History
by Queen.Violet
Summary: How the Majestics started. We all know how their team formed, this story is about how they met each other and also what their childhoods were like. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, this is my first Beyblade story, and of course it's about the Majestics!! Dedicated to Tori (AzikaRue394) and Macy (Demolition-GIRL-33236), because they are amazing! XD

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade and never will, unless fate smiles upon me. If that happens, I assure you, you will see a lot more of the Majestics.

* * *

A six year old Oliver sat on the bench, swinging his legs back and forth. That morning, his mother had explained what was going on. She had said that she and his father got into a disagreement about something, so they had to go and settle it.

Oliver still didn't understand why he had to come, or why they had to dress up and come to a big fancy building. Why couldn't they just talk together like they used to?

He looked up curiously as his mother's lawyer came over, but when he saw her sit down with official looking papers, he sighed in boredom and went back to staring at his hands.

It was times like this that really made him miss Enrique. The Italian boy had been his constant companion his whole life. Oliver didn't really understand why he couldn't have his best friend with him, but his mother had said this didn't really have anything to do with Enrique.

He sighed again. She had also said Oliver would be left out of the room as much as possible.

Ignoring the two women on his right, he looked around glumly. This was a very depressing place, he thought. The lights were dimmed for some reason and on the other side of the room were a lot more people—some of them looking more miserable than he was, but he supposed he was more bored than anything. The more he saw, the more he thought this place had nothing beautiful at all in it. Then he saw the window. It wasn't very big, but it was the only connection to the outside world.

Oliver tugged on his mother's sleeve.

"What is it honey?" She asked.

"May I go look out the window, I'm bored."

"Sure," she said, taking pity on the small boy.

Standing up, Olive made through all the sad people, trying to smile for their benefit.

When he arrived at his destination, he rested his small elbows on the window sill. It was still raining, he noticed, but he thought Paris was beautiful in any weather.

He stayed by the window for a long time, watching the people under umbrellas making their way through the drenched streets. He also looked at the buildings. Their designs amazed him, they were wonderfully artistic. This would be a lovely scene to paint...but he had brought nothing to pass the time.

"Oliver, I'm going into the conference room now." His mother had come up behind him. "Stay here and don't cause trouble."

"Okay." He answered half-heartedly, still absorbed in the outside world. Besides, he never caused trouble unless Enrique was around, what did she have to worry about?

An hour passed. This was taking longer than he thought it would.

He turned away from the window and examined the people in the room again. There were more of them now, and they all looked miserable. Some of them were whispering to each other, some were quiet, and a few were even crying.

How depressing. He preferred the rain.

He was about to turn back to the window, when his mother reappeared.

"Mommy, can we go home yet? I'm hungry."

"In a little Oli, they want to talk to you for a bit." came the tired response.

Then his mother picked him up and carried him down a brightly lit and very white corridor. There were more benches here, but they were smaller and obviously built for fewer people. His mother put him down by one of these benches, then crouched down so she was looking him in the eyes.

"Are you okay?" She sounded concerned and he wondered why/

"Yes."

His mother's attorney came out of the small conference room.

"You're going to come in here with me for a while, we're going to ask you some questions. Okay?"

Oliver nodded, still wanting to know why this couldn't be resolved by just his parents talking. That was how things used to be. But his parents had been fighting a lot lately, and he guessed this was part of the result of his dad moving out.

The more he thought about it, the more Oliver thought this whole thing was his fault. His parents had never fought so much before. But after that visit that visit to the hospital three years ago...let's just say things had gone down hill from there. Oliver didn't remember exactly everything that had happened, but he did know that that was the day they had found out he had diabetes. That's what they fought about, what would be best for him.

Yes, he thought, this was probably his fault. He'd had plenty of time to think about that.

He followed the woman into the small room and sat down in a chair that was a little too big for his small frame.

The room was small, as he figured it would be, and there were no windows. This was the worst part in Oliver's mind. No way of reminding him life was still going on outside.

There were two other people in the conference room. Another woman was there, along with a man who looked pretty official. One thought came to mind at this sight, this was not going to be fun.

Oliver swallowed as they closed the door. Everyone was smiling at him and it was making him uneasy.

The man was the first to speak. "Hello! What's your name?"

"Oliver." He answered skeptically. The man was being much too friendly and it only served to make him much more nervous than was necessary.

"How old are you Oliver?" the man asked with that meaningless smile on his face.

"I'm six years old."

"I see. And what school do you go to?"

Oliver was still very nervous and all these personal questions seemed unnecessary.

"I-I don't go to school, I have tutors who come to my house to teach me and Enrique." he didn't know why he had to tell these people this...what did they care what he did with his day?

"Oh," the man's eyebrows raised and the French boy noticed that he and the two women were taking notes on everything he told them. "Who is Enrique?"

"He's, er, my friend. He stays with us when his parents are away—which they are a lot." Oliver was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, why were they asking all these questions? He wondered once again. And why did it matter who Enrique was? This was meant to be about Oliver's parents, so why were he and his best friend brought into it?

The man was smiling at him again.

"The reason I'm asking all these questions is because I know absolutely nothing about you!" the smile grew into a toothy grin—which in truth only creeped Oliver out.

"I thought I'd get to know you a little better so you're more comfortable and you can talk to us freely." the man went on.

More comfortable. Yeah right. What was this all about anyway? It seemed as though that was the only thing he was capable of thinking at the time.

For the first time, the green-haired child noticed the man was doing all the talking so Oliver figured he must be in charge here.

The smiling creeper (as Oliver had come to think of him, Enrique was awfully fond of that word) addressed him again.

"Well Oliver, what's your daily schedule like?"

Another random question...Oliver looked confused for a second and then answered. "Umm...our first tutor usually gets to my house at nine...then the day ends at about three. Enri and I usually spend the rest of the day playing after that."

"Is it like that every day?"

Oliver had started to relax a little, for whatever reason, and answered this one in a slightly more friendly manner. He shook his head.

"On Friday, our last tutor leaves early—at twelve—and my mom usually takes us out somewhere. Or we stay at home and Enri and I do something together. Then on weekends, Enrique and I can do whatever we want on Sunday, but Saturday's we do to my dad's."

This time the other woman (who Oliver realized must be his father's attorney) smiled and spoke to him.

"And what is it you normally do with your father?"

The petite Frenchman swallowed again. He wasn't sure why, but this question had made him instantly nervous once more. Maybe it had been the way she said 'father'....

"Um..." he faltered yet again, "well, he takes us wherever we want—like the movies or a certain restaurant, or even the Louvre. Other times we just play together. He's the best dad ever." The last sentence had been said with complete seriousness.

The three adults recorded his every word.

"Okay, now what is it you like to do with your mother?" His father's lawyer asked him.

Oliver blinked. "Well, we, uh....like I said she takes us places. All around Paris—to the parks or an amusement park sometimes. We also spend a lot of time together, she's a stay-at-home mom." he was looking down; studying his hands for what felt like the billionth time. He was becoming more nervous than ever, and maybe a little scared too. Something told him this was more then just a regular argument between his parents.

Why didn't his mother ever tell him the whole truth?

His father's attorney and the other two wrote this down, then she spoke again.

"Did your parents used to fight a lot?"

Oliver nodded, tears forming in his eyes as he swallowed the lump in his throat. This was the question he never wanted to hear. He really didn't want the interrogation (that's what it felt like to the poor boy) to go in that direction.

The 'smiling creeper' took up the questioning once again. "Do you remember anything specific they fought about?"

With his head down, the three adults didn't see the first of the tears that had been threatening to fall escape and trail down his face. He remembered what the fights had been about but wasn't keen on sharing that almost every fight had been about _him_. So Oliver shook his head and another tear fell.

Surprisingly, no one noticed this either.

The man was still smiling in fact, as he asked yet another question. "Would you say things are more peaceful now that your dad has left?"

Oliver could tell they were trying to be nice about this, but the questions weren't helping. All they were doing was reminding the boy about all the fights his parents had had and how they were all about him, thus his fault.

He shook his head again and tried to bring himself under control. "No."

His father's lawyer seemed surprised by his answer. "No? Why not?"

Oliver sniffed, then spoke, "Because the problem's still there. I-I think it needs to be f-fixed before things can be alright again." His voice had quavered, giving him away. There were many more tears now and they were falling freely, though he was not crying completely yet.

This only seemed to confuse the woman more, and no one was smiling any more. "What is this problem if you don't mind my asking?"

His mother's attorney was doing her best to comfort the crying French boy, but at this Oliver's shoulders began to shake and he dropped his head into his hands. He was crying in earnest now and in his mind the same sentence was repeating itself 'It's me, I'm the problem and I can't fix it...'

The adults were all worried and by unspoken consent decided this should end now.

His mother's attorney picked Oliver up and carried hem out to where his mother was still waiting. As soon as she saw her son, a look of complete concern spread across her face.

The lawyer set the crying boy down and his mother instantly scooped him into her arms. "Oli, what's wrong?"

She received no answer of course. Then she turned back to her lawyer and asked, "Is it alright if we leave now?"

The other woman nodded and as Mrs. Boulanger hurried away with her son, she waved, promising to take care of everything.

On their way out, mother and son passed the window. Oliver was far too upset to look out, but if he had, he would've noticed it was raining even harder now.

As they climbed into the limo, Oliver's mother was trying to soothe him as much as she could. But Oliver was tired and upset and it wasn't much surprise when he fell asleep.

* * *

So, there it was. Tell me if you enjoyed it!

It's kinda hard to write about kids...which is what I'll be attempting to do throughout this entire story.


	2. Chapter 2

The second chapter has arrived! I know, I know. You're all incredibly thrilled. Just try to contain your excitement.

This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers who made me oh so happy with my first fic ever: MJFastlane, Demolition-GIRL-33236, blitzkreig50889, and AzikaRue394! Thanks a bunch!

Oh, and also to Darkened-Storm who put this story on her alert list!

* * *

It was a long ride from the court house and when they finally got home, the raining hadn't stopped.

Oliver had woken up when they pulled into the long driveway of his family's enormous mansion, and ran inside and upstairs and as fast as possible. The running was partially due to the rain, but mainly it was to avoid any questioning from his overly-concerned mother. He then changed out of the annoying 'fancy clothes' and into something more comfortable. Then it was back downstairs in search of Enrique, who Oliver knew would listen and understand his side of things.

His search (and his hunger, for he hadn't eaten anything since that morning) led him to the kitchen. The kitchen was his favorite place in the entire house, he enjoyed helping the cooks and learning what he could.

He found the blond in here—talking to one of the maids. One of the young, pretty maids.

Oliver smiled slightly at his friend's antics and hurried over.

"Hi Enri! I'm back."

Enrique turned to acknowledge the Frenchman's presence. "Hey Oliver! What took you so long?"

Oliver shrugged. "Adults talk a lot. I'm hungry..."

The maid smiled and told them she had to get back to work. She just couldn't get over how cute those two were!

The boys then ran off, after a snack of course, and climbed the stairs. They went straight to Enrique's room, talking the whole way. The two then sat themselves on his bed, facing each other.

"So then even though I wasn't supposed to go, they took me into the room alone to talk to my mom's attorney and two other people." The French boy stated, explaining the events from the court house.

"Were they nice?" His companion questioned.

"Well they were trying to be...they were all smiling at me when I came in. But that really only made it worse."

"Ew. Grown-ups can be such creepers..." Enrique said, echoing Oliver's earlier thoughts completely.

Oliver smiled again. He had known his best friend would understand, Enrique never failed to cheer him up.

"Yeah," the smaller of the two went on, "Then they were asking me all these questions...I had to tell them about you, they also wanted to know about what we did with mum and dad and what we normally did in a day..."

The Italian pulled a face, "Like I said, adults can be such freaks. No wonder they complain about being old." He paused, then continued, "Although, I can see why they would want to know about me." This was accompanied by a charming smile.

Oliver had a small smile of his own at this, but it faltered when he remembered the other questions that had been asked at the meeting.

Enrique noticed this, although the green haired boy tried to hide it by looking down at Enrique's comforter.

"What is it Oli?"

"Well...then they asked if mum and dad used to fight a lot, I said yes. Then they wanted to know what the fights had been about...and I—well I—" Oliver broke off suddenly. He concentrated on the comforter, tracing the pattern with his finger. His gray-lavender eyes had begun to water again.

"Hey," Enrique spoke gently, "It's alright, what's wrong?" He didn't like seeing his best friend sad, and he'd been seeing that a little too often lately.

Oliver was silent for a while, then he said, "I don't think I told them anything...but I do actually know what the fights were about."

Enrique frowned. He too knew what the fights had been about, and he'd always wondered if Oliver was taking these fights to heart. It seemed he was.

"They've always been about me. What's best for me, what I should do, what I shouldn't, if I should eat this or that, whether I'm old enough to give myself insulin or check my own blood sugar....You know I can already do all that and make those decisions on my own."

The blue-eyed Italian nodded. "I think your parents know that, too. They just worry about you and want what's best for you."

Oliver just sighed. "Yes, but the point is these fights are my fault." His voice was incredibly sad.

"How?"

The Frenchman sniffed, "I'm the one with diabetes! And that's all they ever fight about—" He broke off again, the tears were threatening to fall again and he feared that if he kept talking they would fall.

Oliver tried to calm himself some. "I just...really wish things could be the way they used to. I wish that day had never happened—that I never got diabetes."

Enrique hated the fact that Oliver blamed himself for all this. He wanted those things too, but everything happened for a reason. Oliver's parents had explained that to him after he had met his parents. Yes, _met_.

Soon after he'd been born, Enrique's parents had dropped him off in France with a close friend on their way to a conference. They were completely 'dedicated' to their work and the only reason they'd had a kid was probably so they'd have someone to inherit all that money they worked so hard to inherit themselves.

Oliver's parents had raised him and he'd always loved them—much more than his own parents. When he'd turned four, that's when his parents finally got time to see their son again. This was also about six months after Oliver had been diagnosed with diabetes.

He'd flown to Italy and gone home for the first time since his birth. He would only get to spend a few hours with them and had been really looking forward to it.

It was a major disappointment, to say the least. His parents hadn't gotten there on time, in fact they were a good three hours late. Enrique had spent the time sitting in alone in the living room. When they arrived, they weren't exactly overjoyed to see him as one would expect.

They had barely spoken to him and what they had said hadn't been what they really should've. They'd asked him how he was and all that, then they had to go and unpack—only to get ready for another trip they were leaving for the next morning.

Enrique had only received a fleeting hug from each of them before they were gone again, and he escorted back to Paris.

Needless to say, the boy was in tears the whole way back. He'd run into the Boulanger's mansion where he was consoled to the point of talking and comforted by the people he now considered his real family.

Oliver's parents had then taken him aside and spoken to him. They'd promised everything would get better and had told him that everything happened for a reason. They said that they would always be there for him, when his own parents weren't.

The Italian remembered darkly, though, that that night, Oliver's parents had gotten into another fight.

Sitting here now, Enrique realized that if events hadn't played that way he wouldn't be here to help his best friend through this.

As he thought these things over, he watched Oliver carefully. When he saw a tear make its way down the French boy's face, he decided he should speak up.

"Oliver, listen to me."

Oliver looked up for a second, then went back to looking down.

"I can't say I really understand all of this, but I know it's not your fault. You didn't choose to get diabetes. You didn't ask your parents to fight. And I know you did not want this to happen. But if you ignore everything else I say, I at least want you to remember this: Everything happens for a reason."

His best friend said nothing, but Enrique sensed he was about to object somehow. He decided to drop it for now. "It'll be okay....Now, how about we go do something a little more fun?"

Oliver was clearly grateful for the change in subject and visibly brightened some. He nodded, drying his eyes. "Alright, what do you wanna do?"

"How about we go 'create an annoyance' as I think your mom called it last time."

This earned Enrique yet another small smile, and it saddened him some to think that small smiles were all his friend could manage for now.

The two hopped off the bed and ran into the hall, then bounded down the stairs in search of a way to 'create an annoyance.'

* * *

"I'm just a little worried about how all this is affecting Oliver, he hasn't been himself at all lately."

A few floors up, Mrs. Boulanger was in her room, pacing while talking on the phone to a friend of hers who just happened to be Scottish.

"Well I do expect it's come as a bit of a shock to him." Said a surprisingly unaccented voice. "Actually, I've just been thinking about that...I think I might have some ideas about why this is affecting him so much."

The French woman paused her pacing, "And?" she invited the other woman to go on.

"There are several possible reasons. First it could just be the awkwardness of the situation, or it could be that he misses his father. But the latter seems unlikely because they see each other a lot. Another, very common thing it could be is that he might think this whole thing is his fault. It's common for children of divorced parents to feel that way, and the fact that what you two fought about always had something to do with him."

Antionette Boulanger ceased her restless pacing and sat on her bed. "That never occurred to me...I hope that's all it is, it'll be an easy fix...I hope." she was relieved to finally have some idea about what was bothering her son. Now she could talk to him and clear things up.

"Oh, this whole thing is such a mess!" She exclaimed, "How do you know so much about these things?"

"Well An, when you're a psychiatrist they train you to know these things. Although I can't say it's helped with Johnny much." Kristen McGregor replied.

"I suppose it would help to be a trained professional. How are things with Johnny these days?" The French woman, like her son, was eager to forget the day's events.

There was a sigh from the other woman. "I'm afraid we've run into some trouble of our own...."

Her French correspondent was instantly concerned. "What's happened?"

"You remember that terrible accident about a year back Antionette?"

Mrs. Boulanger nodded, then remembering her friend couldn't see her said, "Oh yes! I'd have to say that's the absolute worst thing that can happen to a person! Let alone one so young..."

"Well I'd have to agree with you there, but you see the thing is—I told you about how Johnny isn't taking this well at all, so I had some people try and help me get him to talk about it, didn't I?" The Scottish woman wanted to be sure her friend had all the facts.

"Yes of course you did...how's that going?"

"That's just it! It seems everyone's given up on my boy! I mean we're still trying, Don and I, but he doesn't trust us enough! We've tried everything, but his behavior is simply too much for them to handle, and like I said, he won't let us try and help him! It gets worse every time one of them leaves...some have taken extreme measures to get away from him." Kristen ranted slightly, obviously worried.

"Well that's just horrid! How are you going to work this one out?" She couldn't believe no one wanted to help the boy. Sure he'd had some really bad nightmares along with a horrible attitude since the accident, but surely someone could get past that and help?

"Actually, I may have thought of a solution."

Antionette wasn't surprised. Her friend had a knack for finding a solution in a seemingly impossible situation. "That is...?"

"Well I figured someone his age might be able to understand more and help him better. He also might trust them more." The Scotswoman answered almost immediately.

The other woman was a little skeptical though, "Are you sure you want a young person around Johnny? It might do them harm themselves. And besides, who are you going to find who's willing to send their child into that mess?"

The Scot had an answer to this as well, "Well, I'm counting on the fact that he might not be so harsh with them. I called the Jurgens, they're going away on business and don't like the idea of leaving their son home alone."

Now this surprised the Frenchwoman. "I didn't know they had a son! What's his name?"

"You didn't know? His name's Robert and he just turned eight last month as a matter of fact!" Kristen sounded equally surprised.

"Wow, I suppose I've been out of touch with them for longer than I thought...in fact, I probably wouldn't have started calling you again if it weren't for the combination of Johnny's accident and this divorce!"

There was a sigh on the other line. "Yes, it's strange how these less-than-happy events keep us together. Anyway, Robert will be coming up here soon to stay with us and help Johnny anyway he can."

"Are you still positive that's a good idea? I mean, he's just a kid himself, how is he going to know how to help where others couldn't?" Antionette was obviously still questioning the decision made by her friend.

"I'm sure it'll be fine An, you worry too much sometimes." The Scot reassured her, "Besides, I fear it may be our only choice left."

The other woman raised her eyebrows, "Things have gotten that bad?"

The psychiatrist nodded and answered, "Oh yes. You'd be surprised." She sounded suddenly tired.

"Is there anything I can do?"

A sigh, and then Kristen responded, "You should concentrate on your own problems for now...but I'll call you if Johnny makes any progress. Then maybe you can bring the boys up for a bit, you sound like you could use a break."

Antionette smiled slightly, "Thanks, I'm sure you could use one, too."

"Yes, but who has time for rest these days?" The Scotswoman said.

The other just laughed, then she heard a crash somewhere downstairs. This was followed by the shouting of angry workers, which brought out a groan.

"What is it?" the voice sounded like it was on the verge of laughter, for the Scot had heard the crash as well.

"The boys are up to trouble again." Came the matter-of-fact reply.

Her friend chuckled, "What have they done now?"

"I have no clue. I better go and see. I'll call and keep you posted on what's happening here."

"Alright, bye."

"G'bye" Antionette hung up and hurried down the stairs shouting, "Boys! What did you get into now?"

She arrived at the base of the stairs and followed the sounds of commotion to the dining room. When she got to the doorway, she found it blocked by two innocent looking children. She gave the boys an inquisitive look before squeezing past them into the room.

Unintentionally, the French boy and the Italian had caused a little more than just 'an annoyance.' The maids and kitchen workers had been in the middle of setting up for dinner when the boys had come in. They had been putting out the food and setting the table, but all activity had ceased to clean the mess the boys had created.

There was food everywhere and Antionette noticed everyone and everything was covered in it—including Enrique and Oliver. Fallen plates, silverware, and trays lay everywhere.

"Oh my..." She was almost too stunned to speak. "How did you manage this?" she asked, turning to face her son and his friend.

"Well we only wanted to have some fun..." Enrique tried to explain.

"So you destroyed the dining room?!" Oliver's mother exclaimed, determined to know what happened.

"Not intentionally!" Oliver hurried to defend himself.

"Yeah, we were just talking to them and we might've accidentally tripped someone....But it wasn't our plan I swear!" Enrique provided.

The woman shook her head. The workers were already made some headway in the cleaning, and Antionette decided the boys needed cleaning up as well.

"What am I going to do with you?" she wondered aloud, picking up Oliver and taking Enrique by the hand. She led the two upstairs and escorted Enrique to his room, telling him to get himself cleaned up immediately.

"But I'm hardly dirty!" the blond complained, although he had what was meant to be dinner all over him.

The Frenchwoman set her son down, then crouched down to look at the young Italian. "I'll have a maid start your bath, then I want you to scrub yourself clean and come down for dinner. If you aren't squeaky clean by then, I'm afraid you'll have to take another bath before going straight to bed—without dinner."

Oliver watched in amusement as his friend ran hurriedly into his room to await the maid. He obviously didn't want to miss dinner.

* * *

A short while later, Mrs. Boulanger was sitting on her son's bed, holding him in her lap. He had just taken his bath and was finishing checking his blood sugar before they went down to dinner.

"You've become quite good at that." She stated.

"Yes." Oliver answered plainly, putting his things away and then climbing back into his mother's lap.

"I want to talk to you about something, honey." She told him.

"What is it?" the small boy asked, shifting around to face his mother.

"You know what's going on between your dad and I?" She asked, looking into his gray-lavender eyes.

Oliver nodded, turning away slightly.

"I just want you to know that it's not your fault?" She said, running her fingers through his damp hair.

He turned back to face her quickly. "But it is!" the green haired boy exclaimed suddenly. "I'm what you always fight about and I'm the reason they started in the first place."

Antionette noticed the tears in her son's eyes and wondered why she'd never noticed he was taking this as his fault before. "No!" She said quickly, "This whole thing is not your fault!" She then hugged him tightly as he started to cry for the second time that day, too exhausted to try and stop the tears.

"You didn't choose to get sick, and I'm sure you didn't want us to fight! This is between me and your father and I do not want you thinking it's your fault!" She assured him further, rubbing his back to calm him down some.

Oliver nodded and his tears slowed to a slightly more controllable rate. A few minutes later he sat back and rubbed his eyes.

"Are you okay?" His mother was concerned.

"Yeah..."

"This isn't your fault. And don't worry, things will get better." The Frenchwoman promised her son.

Oliver nodded once more, finally accepting her words.

Antionette kissed her son's forehead then held her small shoulders, examining him.

Suddenly, an excited blond burst through the door. "Can I have dinner now? I promise I'm perfectly clean!"

Oliver giggled weakly then climbed off his mother's lap. The woman smiled and then took both boys by their hands and took them downstairs to dinner.

Things just might be okay here after all...

* * *

I know, kinda cheesy ending. But what are you gonna do? It fit...

The second chapter is finally typed...after my sisters asking me a hundred million times to go on here and many distractions. I hate sharing a computer...

It's probably ridden with errors...if you have any questions you can ask me.

Ah well, review and I may be persuaded to type some more...


	3. Chapter 3

The third chapter has arrived!! And with Robert and Johnny!

Thanks again to all my reviewers!! You really do wonders for my self esteem!

Disclaimer: (I realized I forgot this on the second chapter XD) I do not own Beyblade or any of the characters. I simply own this plot.

* * *

The boy stepped out from the relative comfort of the limo and into the chilly air. It always seemed to be cold and wet in Scotland, he thought.

The driver picked up the boy's luggage and followed him up the steps of the dreary-looking mansion. He set then down to knock on the door using an intricate door knocker. The door was soon opened by an elderly butler who addressed the boy first.

"Master Robert, we've been expecting you." the butler then stepped aside, allowing Robert to pass.

As the German looked around with mild interest, the butler dismissed the limo driver then picked up the boy's luggage and set it down off to the side.

"This way." he said, leading the purple haired boy to the living room.

When they entered the room, Mrs. McGregor stood to greet her young guest. "Hello Robert. Did you come all this way by yourself?"

"Hello Mrs. McGregor. Yes, I came alone." was the polite response.

"Have your parents left on their trip yet?"

"Yes." Robert said plainly, aware that the woman was looking at him with curiosity. This made him slightly uncomfortable, and he wished she would look somewhere else.

"Will that be all Mrs. McGregor?" the butler asked, forcing the Scotswoman to look his way.

"Yes, thank you. Will you send Robert's things to his room?"

The older man nodded before departing to do as he'd been asked.

Mrs. McGregor went back to staring at Robert. She knew it was rude, and probably made him feel awkward, but she couldn't get past how oddly proper he looked for someone so young.

"May I sit down?"

"What? Oh yes, of course." she was yanked from her thoughts as the boy asked his question. Kristen noticed how he sat on the comfortable chair as though it were wooden and straight-backed. She took a seat herself, choosing the couch.

She was about to say something to Robert when her husband entered the room and she stood up once again. It was the early evening, and normally they would be at work now, but they'd stayed home to take care of their son.

"Don, this is Robert. Robert, this is my husband." she introduced the two.

Mr. McGregor turned his attention towards the German and nodded in greeting. "Robert."

"Hello."

The Scotswoman also noticed the boy didn't talk much, although that would probably change once he became more comfortable.

She looked back to her husband, "How's Johnny?" she asked with a tired voice that sounded as though it had asked that question many times before.

Don sighed, "Well, he's running a fever—his highest yet—and he's in a terrible mood...won't let anyone near him."

Now it was her turn to sigh as she shook her head. "Why did he have to do that? I really wish he would calm down some." she sounded exhausted.

"It's not entirely his fault, he's just not coping with things well at all." her husband tried to reassure her some.

The boy on the chair cleared his throat in the most polite manner possible, successfully getting the adults' attention. "What happened?" the question was lightly coated with concern.

"Well," Kristen McGregor began, "last night, Johnny ran away. We were horrified, we had people searching all over for him! They finally found him this morning, curled up under a tree in some park and soaked to the skin! He's had a high fever ever since."

"Can I go and see him?"

This question caught the couple by surprise.

"Well..." the woman began, looking at her husband.

The man sighed once more, he hadn't really been into this idea from the start and didn't want his son to do emotional harm to this boy. "Robert, I'm sure you've been warned about his behavior. Johnny's not really—"

"Can I please go and see him?"

There was a moment of silence as both of Johnny's parents looked at Robert strangely. They certainly hadn't expected the boy to be this eager to enter the chaos.

"I think we should tell you the whole story first...I'm assuming your parents didn't tell you what happened in much detail?" Mrs. McGregor broke the silence.

But Robert was adamant, "I'm sure Johnny will tell me himself when he feels like it."

Kristen turned toward her husband. "What could it hurt?"

Don still wasn't too sure about the idea, "A lot?" he whispered to her so that Robert couldn't hear.

"It'll be fine." she whispered back sternly.

"Alright, I suppose it'd be okay." The Scotsman gave in.

They ceased their whispering and turned back to Robert, only to find he'd been watching them. Mrs. McGregor wasn't very surprised after what she'd observed about the boy.

"You can go see him..." she told the young German, "just be...cautious...okay?"

Robert stood up. "Of course."

"I'll take you to his room." Don offered. He then led the boy out of the room, his wife watching them go. Then they climbed the main staircase, and finally reached Johnny's room.

Mr. McGregor knocked carefully on the door.

"Go away and leave me alone already!" the voice was genuinely angry. Robert supposed this wasn't the first time someone had knocked that evening.

"Johnny, open up. Robert's here." Don tried to persuade his son.

But the boy was being very stubborn. "I don't care! Now go away and stay away!"

The man shook his head and turned to Robert. "See? I don't think we should disturb him now..."

Robert didn't seem to hear. He reached out, turned the doorknob, and stepped into the room closing the door behind him.

Don went to follow, but his wife's voice stopped him. "Leave it. I think some company might do him good."

The two then returned to the living room, waiting to see if Robert would come back down.

* * *

Robert noticed the lights in the room were dimmed and wondered why. But he didn't have much time to ponder this however, because Johnny had noticed his presence.

"Who are you?" the question had a harsh tone to it.

"Robert." the German answered plainly.

"Oh, yeah, they told me you'd be coming. What are you doing here?" Johnny seemed to have been ignoring his father when he'd announced Robert's arrival minutes ago.

Robert noticed the voice still sounded mean, but nevertheless took a few more steps into the room. "I'm here because your parents are concerned."

He could see Johnny now; a figure with messy red hair lying on the bed with his arms crossed. As though he didn't want to be lying there, but had no choice in the matter.

Robert wandered still further into the Scot's room, walking right up to the side of the bed. Johnny glared up at him.

"What?" the redhead demanded.

"I was simply looking at you." Robert replied coolly.

"Well quit it!" Johnny snapped, "And get the heck out of my room!"

"No." came the simple answer, which only seemed to annoy the Scotsman more.

"What?!" Johnny obviously used to being denied.

"I spoke quite clearly." the German was starting to get annoyed himself.

The redhead grunted in his own annoyance and anger. "Fine, stay if you really want to that bad." He then turned his head away from Robert, trying to ignore the fact that he was there.

A long silence followed, in which Robert looked around the huge room. He occasionally glanced back down at Johnny with slightly disapproving eyes.

The older of the two also noticed that someone—maybe a more than one someone—had been in here before him and tried to help the Scottish boy. There was a chair next to the bed—which he noticed because Johnny was glaring at it as though it had done him personal harm. Someone had also brought food (it was on a tray on the bedside table), but Johnny had barely touched it, if he'd even eaten any of it at all.

Finally, Robert spoke again, "I heard you spent last night in a park."

"Yeah, before I was dragged back here and fussed over."

"Why did you run away?" the ruby eyed boy decided to get straight to the point.

"Why do you care?! It's none of your business anyway." his voice never seemed to drop its angry, slightly bitter tone.

"It's your parent's business. But I guess you already told them."

The redhead on the bed shifted a little, though he was still not looking at Robert. "They didn't ask. They were too busy making sure I wasn't dead, and besides, they probably have some idea why..." this last part sounded slightly more cautious, but not any less harsh.

Robert also noticed Johnny's voice also seemed to have a permanent sarcastic tone to it, although this was the other boy's natural voice. (A/N: Am I the only one who noticed how Johnny's voice just sounds sarcastic?)

He decided it was time for some sarcasm of his own, "I'm sure they were overjoyed to discover that you were alive."

Johnny rolled over quickly on his bed to look at Robert, "Why don't you just get out of here and leave me alone already? I'm not going to tell you anything." his eyes were just as harsh as his voice now.

The German didn't seem unsettled (although he was plenty angry on the inside) and replied: "Do you have something you should tell me?"

The Scotsman continued to glare at him for a while, then looked his new, unwanted companion up and down. Johnny sat up and glared into the red eyes. "Nothing. No matter what my parents told you, I don't need help!" he glanced down at his hands then continued glaring at Robert. "I don't think you'll stick around long anyway."

"Your parents would disagree. Besides, I'm stuck here until my own parents get home from their business trip."

With that, the Jurgen turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Inside the room, the Scot huffed and lay back down, seething in his feverish state. He did not think that this stubborn boy would help any more than the others had...his parents had finally lost it.

* * *

Robert, meanwhile, had returned downstairs—only to be escorted up once again after only a brief discussion with the McGregors.

They'd seemed convinced he would want sent home, and had been surprised by his want to stay. He could be stubborn at the worst times, and would have probably left were it not for that.

They had also wanted to know what happened up there in Johnny's room. Robert had simply told them that Johnny hadn't told him anything. They seemed discouraged by the fact, but Kristen had reminded her husband that it was only the first day and their son was in a bad mood to begin with.

Then the same butler who had taken his bags up before him showed Robert to his room. It was the one next to Johnny's.

Presently, Robert was lying on his bed, positioned on his stomach with his head resting on his hands. He was thinking about his encounter with his new neighbor.

The redhead had come across as ill tempered and seemed to posses a strange bitterness. Robert didn't know why yet, and even though both his parents and Johnny's had offered to explain the reason, the boy was determined to get Johnny to trust him enough to tell Robert himself what had happened.

All Robert knew was that some sort of accident (as he'd heard it referred to by everyone) was to blame.

The thoroughly exhausted German sighed. This was going to take a long time.

* * *

There you go!

I feel like I may be exaggerating a little, although Tori has reassured me that kids over-exaggerate things and since I'm writing about kids I have a reason to do that. I still think I'm taking it a little too far.

Oh well, decide for yourself once you read more.

(Just so you know, Johnny's parents don't stay home everyday to take care of him, they were just there because of the fact that he had a high fever. Don and Kristen? What was I thinking when choosing those names? I can be so strange sometimes.)

Review and tell me what you think!

*gaspeth* I actually checked this one before posting it! That's something new...hopefully it will reduce errors.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the late update, but once I finished it, the site decided to crash on me....grrrr...

I am so grateful to my reviewers! Especially the continual ones who review to every chapter! MJFastlane and Demolition-GIRL-33236—where would I be without you?

And also thanks to my sister Tori (AzikaRue394) who reads all my stuff first and tells me how great *cough* horrible *cough* it is.

Anyway, this chapter is complete crap...according to me anyway, I hope you guys see it differently.

Also, if you were in tune to that last sentence, you'll notice that I have little faith in my writing abilities (especially in this chapter—maybe that's why it took so long to get it typed) and I don't think I'm a very good writer...but if you guys read it and like it, then I _must_ have done something right.

That said, ENJOY MY FRIENDS!

* * *

It was a gorgeous, sunny day in France. The kind that would normally find two overly-active children running through the grounds of the giant mansion.

But, unfortunately, Paris' first nice day in a while had fallen on a Monday, which instead found the two boys inside—doing schoolwork of all things.

They were restless all day and there was much squirming and whispering during class. Until three o'clock arrived that is. At this time, the Frenchman and the Italian were set free, and without bothering to ask left the building to enjoy what was left of the day.

Since Oliver had had that talk with his mother, things were going a lot better.

Well, better for everyone but the workers. Now that Oliver felt better, he and Enrique seemed to be getting into even more mischief than ever (for some reason, the Italian was always to blame for the incidents, though we might say this is because Oliver had a way of making things turn out in his favor).

While the two trouble makers enjoyed themselves outside, an elegant Frenchwoman stood by the window watching them. She, of course, was happy for the change in her son's mood.

The pair disappeared from her view and she let the curtains drop back into place. She only wished she could enjoy life as much as her son was right now.

The divorce from her husband was proving to be a much more difficult case than intended. Their constant fighting had been the cause of the break in the first place, now it was making it hard to work things out without having to go to court.

At the moment, her mind was clouded with worries.

She knew they would get money, but she didn't know how much. Antionette also knew that it would probably be less money than they were living on now.

She didn't know if they would get to keep this house. It was, after all, her husband's house. But another thing she knew for sure is that she would get to be the one who kept Oliver. She wasn't letting her son stay with his father for life.

But by far the hardest uncertainty to bear was the thought of how much longer Enrique could stay.

The blond Italian had been with them his whole life—his parents were away too often to look after a child—and the thought of him leaving any time soon was not a pleasant one. Both Oliver and Enrique would be lonely without the other's company.

She hated the thought of sending the energetic blond home to be by himself with no one but the maids and tutors to look after him. He would surly be miserable.

But no matter how much she detested the idea, she may just end up having to do it. There would be less money and she didn't know if she could support herself and the two boys. Hopefully there would be enough, but Enrique's parents would want him back home sometime anyway. But even with these thoughts, Antoinette couldn't convince herself that Enrique leaving would be a happy affair.

The Frenchwoman sighed and slowly gravitated towards the couch to sit down.

She only had a few moments to herself after this, though, because soon enough the two boys barged in through the front door.

"Mommy! Enrique pushed me in the fountain!"

"I did not! He pulled me in after he _fell_ in!"

The quarreling pair entered the living room at a run—sure enough dripping water everywhere. The smaller one was quick to jump into his mother's arms and explain his side of the story.

"I was walking around the outside of the fountain with Enrique, and he shoved me from behind into the fountain!"

"That is not true!" The Italian protested.

In his mother's lap, Oliver nodded vigorously, sending droplets of water flying. "It is! You know it is!" he pouted.

"Alright, maybe I pushed you a _little_ but you weren't going fast enough and—!"

"See?! He admitted it!" The French boy pointed an accusing finger at his friend.

"No I didn't! I said I _might _have pushed you a _little_! You tripped and fell in on your own after that. And then you pulled me in, too!" Enrique pointed his own finger at the green haired boy.

Oliver pouted some more, then turned and looked at his mother, "He's lying! Punish him mommy!"

The woman laughed and looked Enrique, as did her son—although Oliver's look was still a pouting one.

"No, _he's _lying, punish _him_! He fell in and pulled me down." The blond defended himself.

Oliver shook his head; once again sending more droplets of water everywhere. "No no no! He_pushed _me in then jumped in instead of helping me get out!"

"No I didn't! You—"

"Boys," Oliver's mother cut him off, "Stop fighting! However it happened, you both ended up in the fountain, you're both soaking wet, and you both need drying off."

Oliver crossed his arms, determined for the blame to be put on his friend.

Enrique, however, smiled and said, "Actually, I was hoping we could go swimming!"

Antoinette just laughed then asked her son, "What do you think Oliver?"

"Well...okay!" He was still a little disappointed that he hadn't gotten his way, but swimming sounded like fun.

"Yay!" The blond was clearly overjoyed. He ran over and dragged his friend off Antionette's lap. He tugged the boy across the room, towards the door to the main hall by his arm.

"Wait!" The Frenchwoman said, stopping the two before they got too far, "You two can't stay out very long. I have a meeting at the courthouse at 6:30 and I don't want you out after I leave."

They turned to face her, Enrique still grasping his friend's arm.

"With dad?" Oliver asked timidly.

His mother confirmed this with a nod.

"What time will you be home?"

"I shouldn't be any later than nine, but I'll expect you two in bed when I get home." She informed the pair, well aware of how they'd do anything to cause trouble.

"Okay." Oliver sounded sad suddenly, so Enrique gave another tug on his arm.

"Let's go! We don't have all day Oli." the Italian pulled the Frenchman out of the room and upstairs to change.

Mrs. Boulanger sighed again. She wasn't particularly looking forward to this meeting, (they always ended in a fight, which made everything so much more stressful for everyone in the room) but it was necessary that she go.

She climbed the stairs and from her bedroom window looked down to see that her son and his friend were already enjoying themselves in the pool (with a maid watching of course).

* * *

Robert was lying in bed on his back, staring at the ceiling of his dark room. He had just returned from Johnny's room and was thinking about what had happened to get him in the Scot's room in the first place.

He had been asleep until a thud from the next room (Johnny's room) woke him up. He'd always been a light sleeper and hated it when he was woken up because of the fact. So he decided to go and investigate.

When he had entered the other boy's room, he'd found Johnny scrambling back into his bed—which he had obviously fallen out of. The redhead was also sweating and was breathing a little too heavily for someone who had been sleeping peacefully.

When Robert had asked what had happened, the only answer he received was, "Nightmare." and Johnny kicking him out of the room before he could ask any more questions.

Now, the German sighed remembering how Johnny had used the same harsh tone he always did—although it might have been slightly less so. He also remembered seeing an almost haunted and scared look in the other's plum eyes. Robert decided that it must've been some nightmare.

There was _definitely_ something going on here, and he was going to find out what it was.

Although, he was becoming impatient and was burning with curiosity. That's what made it so tempting to let someone (his parents and the McGregors had both offered) tell him everything. But he wanted Johnny to tell him...even though that might take a long time.

Robert did have some idea what had happened, but the details were very vague. It had something to do with an accident (as he'd been told it was) that had taken place a year ago. Johnny and his friend—what was his name? Tyler. That's it. Johnny and Tyler had both been involved. But that was as far as his knowledge of the incident went.

This thinking wasn't getting the German anywhere. And he was tired.

Sighing, Robert rolled onto his side and went to sleep, determined to get Johnny to trust him.

* * *

The next morning was spent as most were here at the McGregor's castle. After spending three days here, Robert was used to this routine.

Johnny's parents and Robert ate breakfast together and as usual there was no sign of Johnny. His parents had to have food taken up to him—which he probably didn't eat much of unless he felt like it.

After the meal, Don and Kristen left for work. The woman would be back at lunch to check on Johnny, and then go back to work.

But that wasn't for a few hours yet, and while they were gone Robert could do what he wanted. Today he decided to go and talk to Johnny and see if he could find out any more about what happened last night. The Scotsman wasn't hard to find—this was because he never left his room.

Robert hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door.

"...come in." It seemed Robert wasn't the only one hesitating today. Although the voice was hard, it was also edged with tiredness.

The young German entered the room and saw Johnny sitting on the ledge by the window. Robert crossed the room and stood next to him.

The redhead was glaring out at the unnaturally sunny day as though it had somehow offended him. He looked grumpy and tired—a very dangerous combination with the Scot, as Robert had learned.

Still, he wanted to ask Johnny all the questions he'd been meaning to ask last night. "Hello Johnny," he greeted the other despite his obvious bad mood.

"What do you want?"

His companion sounded worse than he appeared, so the German decided he better get straight to the point. "You had a nightmare last night...what was it about?"

Johnny whirled his head around to look at Robert, "I'm not telling you!"

"Well that's rather childish." Said the other child, "Why won't you tell me?"

Johnny crossed his arms and went back to staring out the window. "Once I told everyone else, they saw me as too much of a nut case to stick around. Some of them left before, though."

"Everyone else?" Robert was slightly confused.

"Do you seriously think you're the only one who's tried to help me? Soon as the 'accident' happened, mum called up all her little therapist friends to make sure I would be 'mentally well' and to try and help me 'get over it' as one of them put it. Just because I didn't feel like talking to her." the redhead responded perhaps a little too violently.

For the first time since he arrived there, Robert finally felt like he was getting somewhere and made the decision to push his luck as far as it would take him. "What happened to them all?"

Johnny just huffed and said, "I told you, they left. One at a time she called them, one at a time they came, and one at a time they got frustrated with me and left. I was too much for them to handle apparently."

"Really?" the German inquired still further.

"Yes. They went to...amazing lengths to get away from me..." this had a surprisingly lost tone to it. Robert continued his questions nonetheless.

"Amazing? How so?"

Here, again, there was hesitation. "....Well, some of them stormed out, most of them just found some excuse to leave, and this last one—" he was speaking quietly now, and seemed to have stopped radiating sarcasm and the harshness that always seemed to be there had nearly vanished.

"What happened to the one who was here before me?" Robert wanted to get all the answers he could before Johnny threw him out again.

"She..." There was a long pause and it seemed the Scot wasn't going to answer. Johnny swallowed and Robert noticed there were uncharacteristic tears in the redhead's eyes. This was a side of Johnny that Robert had not seen and he decided he had better change the subject.

"What did you do that was bad enough to make them leave? You don't seem _that_ bad to me."

Johnny seemed to calm down some (meaning he didn't sound as sad anymore) and answered the question in a voice that was tired and maybe a little cautious. "Nothing that I haven't done—or probably will do—to you. I threw temper tantrums, threw them out of my room, _locked_ them out of my room, completely ignored them, 'harmed them in some way'—as my mom put it. I've refused to talk to them and even hurt...myself." this last part was said with reluctance.

Now that was surprising to Robert, he knew that Johnny was bad, but he would never have thought that the Scot would harm anyone—let alone himself. "Do...do your parents know any of that?"

"Well some of it I've done to them, but those stupid counselor people probably told them everything." Johnny's voice was angry once again as he kept his attention focused out the window; determined not to make eye contact with the German.

"Why would you hurt them, though?"

Johnny stiffened slightly, "I was angry. Or as one of them so kindly put it, 'possessed by demons.' They always tried to force me to talk to them about the...accident...and they never left me alone. I got sick of them, and I threw a tantrum when they refused to leave me alone. I ended up landing a few punches actually."

Robert, coming from the background that he did, had been blissfully unaware that such a disrespect could occur until just a few minutes ago, and therefore was taken by surprise at the whole idea. As it was, he'd also been ignorant of self-harm.

"Well then why did you hurt yourself?" He wanted to know the reason behind such a thing.

"I'm not..." Johnny hesitated, not sure if he should share. "I really don't know how that started. I guess I do it in my sleep—because of the nightmares. It's not really anything major...but my mom freaked out when she saw. I didn't even know I was doing it until she told me she'd seen me 'digging my nails into my arms.'"

There was a long pause. Then the redhead said: "I got real mad at her for coming into my room without permission and I tried to get her out, but that only upset her. She hasn't left me without someone here since then..." His voice was still quiet and careful.

Meanwhile, the German was still extremely surprised by all this. It took some time to swallow what he had heard before he could ask, "Can't you stop?"

"I told you! I didn't know I was doing it! How'm I supposed to stop if I can't control what I'm doing?! If you remember, I do it _in my sleep_!" Johnny was obviously very angry right now, Robert's questions must have annoyed him after only the first one—and answering them all was also, in it's own way, annoying for the Scot.

Robert knew he better stop the inquiry now, before Johnny threw one of his tantrums. "I guess I should go now. Your mother will be back in a few hours for lunch."

The redhead stared hard out the window, trying and failing to control his temper. "I know! And I don't care! Now get lost! I don't want to answer any more stupid questions! So you can just get out of here and leave me alone!" He turned to stare at the Jurgen heir with hatred, "You aren't going to stick around much longer anyway, you've only been here longer than two of the others—and no one's ever stayed longer than a month. You definitely won't be here that long."

The German noble just looked back at the other with a hard stare, "Really?" Johnny's statement presented a challenge for him.

"Yes really!" The reply came through clenched teeth. "Now get the HECK out of my room!"

"Okay then," Robert said in a slightly defensive tone as he was headed for the door, "I'm on my way..." He probably shouldn't have said that, because before he could make it to the door, random objects started flying across the room and slamming into the wall in front of him.

Johnny was sitting on his knees and throwing everything within reach at the German in an attempt to chase the unwanted guest out of his room. He wasn't exactly aiming at him, which is why it surprised him when one of the objects glanced Robert's shoulder.

Robert yanked open the door and left as quickly as he could, only relaxing once the door was closed. He heard several objects hit the door before Johnny gave up.

He walked the short distance to his room next door and sat on his own bed, thinking hard.

He had actually been able to ask Johnny some questions, most of which had been answered. The Jurgen still didn't know what happened to the woman (Johnny had at least told him that it was a she) who had come here before him, or what exactly the 'accident' was.

He knew Johnny was very reluctant to talk about the accident—well he was actually reluctant to talk about anything. The other boy also didn't seem used to calling it an accident. Robert had noticed the slight hesitation there was every time before the Scot said it.

Oh, and Johnny himself was another story entirely. The boy was infuriating! Sure, Robert was young himself, but he and Johnny were two extremely different people. The redhead wouldn't cooperate or tell the German anything and he refused to trust anyone completely.

Johnny also angered real easily and his temper—and his tantrums—could be dangerous. He decided his new neighbor had a lot of issues.

_No wonder all the others left! Johnny's turning out to be terrible!_

Actually, he wasn't even sure why he was still there himself. He'd have certainly left a long time ago and would gladly go home now—but something kept him here.

Robert wasn't quite sure why, but for some reason he couldn't leave. Johnny's attitude should've sent him home long ago, and after that little incident in the redhead's room, he definitely had a good enough excuse to get out of here.

But whatever it was (and now he strongly suspected the sense of honor and duty he'd been born with), it was doing a very good job of keeping him here in Scotland with one of the world's worst behaved kids.

Robert groaned and fell backwards onto his bed, not for the first time completely exhausted. It wasn't even noon yet! Young as he was, the German should have been full of energy. He blamed the nights he'd stayed up worrying—yes worrying—and thinking about Johnny.

He sighed yet again as he realized he would have even more to think about tonight.

Stupid Johnny. Stupid 'accident' that made the boy this way. Stupid parents for getting him into this. Stupid responsibility. But most of all, stupid everyone else for leaving him to be the only one left willing to help! He was only a child himself, and should not be expected to emotionally heal someone.

Robert's last thought was that he was in charge of mission impossible, before he fell into the kind of sleep one can only get if one is utterly drained.

* * *

There you go! I hope you liked it, all things considered.

Ah well...review please? And try and review—not necessarily for every chapter—but more than once so I know you're still enjoying the story or how I can make it better.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five has arrived! I tried to get this one up faster than the last chapter...but that didn't work so well for me.

Disclaimer: I think we have established by now that I do not own Beyblade. So therefore I cannot be sued. This is the last time I'm gonna say this... XD

Not much else I need to say so I hope you ENJOY!

* * *

When Mrs. McGregor came home at lunchtime, she went directly upstairs to check on her son.

Needless to say she was very worried about him. He was always withdrawn with her and her husband, and Robert hadn't told her anything about how Johnny was treating him.

She had noticed that Johnny had fresh nail-marks on his arms when she'd checked on him lately. Also, she knew that he was having these nightmares more often than usual. She figured it must be because of what had happened to Lauren—she'd been the last therapist to try and help Johnny.

Kristen knew that her son couldn't help these scratches, but that didn't stop her from worrying about it. She didn't like the thought of him getting hurt, by any means.

The woman knocked on the door to her son's room and, receiving no answer, entered.

The young Scotsman was curled into a tight ball on his bed and facing away from her. She went to the edge of his bed to be sure that he was asleep. He was. Or at least he seemed to be. Lately, he had begun to fake it when she was there so that he wouldn't be forced to talk.

Kristen brushed some hair out of her son's face and noticed that he had a fever again.

She sighed as she sat down on the bed and then gathered the boy into her arms. She hugged Johnny close whilst hoping he would be alright. He'd gone through a lot—too much for most children his age to handle...not that he had handled it very well though.

She was still frustrated with his behavior. It had become increasingly worse as the time went by, and he refused any help from anybody who offered it.

Mrs. McGregor pinned her son's reluctance to talk about things on trust issues. But she still wished that he wouldn't push people away. Pretty soon, no one would want to go near him, save for her and her husband—but he wouldn't let them near him, so they really couldn't do much good.

The Scottish woman sighed yet again and kissed Johnny's warm forehead softly. She then stood up and placed him gently back on the bed before walking back toward the door.

With a glance back at her son, she turned the lights off and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

Kristen McGregor paused for a bit, and then walked to the room next door. She wondered if Robert was there...

She knocked on the door, gently at first then slightly harder.

She didn't know this, but her knocking had woken a very startled German. He sat up quickly and looked around. Once he recovered, the eight-year-old got off the bed and answered the door.

"Yes?" he said, polite as ever.

"Can I come in and talk with you for a minute?"

Robert blinked at the woman with mild surprise before stepping aside to let her in.

"Thank you." Kristen said, striding over and sitting down on the bed.

The boy looked at her with confusion as he closed the door.

Mrs. McGregor patted the bed next to her, signaling Robert to come and sit beside her. The German came over and climbed onto his bed, his hands folded in his lap.

For maybe the hundredth time, the Scotswoman regarded the red-eyed boy with curiosity. He was awfully proper and polite—his parents had raised him well.

At this moment, Robert was looking around, pleasantly ignoring the fact that the woman was staring at him.

Eventually she noticed her fault and turned away awkwardly, not sure how to start a conversation after this.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" the Jurgen heir provided.

Kristen was thankful for this. "Well, first off, how are you?" she was still uncertain how to get to the main questions that she wanted answered the most.

"I'm good...a bit tired lately though. I'm not sure why."

"I suppose you've been kept up late...thinking." she sighed, suddenly tired herself. "I know I have."

Robert glance up at her and saw that she was staring off into space. The German shifted his position—uncomfortable with the silence.

Kristen saw this out of the corner of her eye and realized with embarrassment how often she spaced out around this boy. She quickly pulled herself out of her reverie.

"Has Johnny been treating you okay?"

The purple haired boy crossed his arms loosely and a small frown appeared on his face.

The woman couldn't help but think how adorable he looked right now.

"He's been...alright." Robert said somewhat cautiously.

Mrs. McGregor could see that the boy was thinking. "How so?" she asked him.

"Well, I'm sure you know how he acts by now. He's okay with me I guess, but he won't tell me much." came the answer as he turned his face up toward the woman.

Kristen continued to watch him, "What has he told you so far?"

Robert looked away and kicked his feet a few times before replying, "Just...about how all those psychiatrists you asked to help left. And I found out he has nightmares, but I don't know what they're about yet. That's all he's told me." For whatever reason, he hadn't told her that he knew about Johnny's scratches.

"Did he tell you what happened to the last one or...?" she let the question hang in the air.

The German boy shook his head. "No, but I'm sure his will eventually."

The Scotswoman took a deep breath—this was the question she was most worried about, "Has he...hurt you yet?" It had to be asked.

Robert shifted slightly and sighed. "Well he did throw things at me to get me out of his room earlier...but none of them hit me."

"I'm so sorry about that!" Kristen apologized immediately for her son's actions, "He's just going through a really tough time right now and I didn't know how best to help him—I still don't. All the others have...left him and he won't talk to Don and I! I had really hoped you would be able to help, but I understand if you want to go home now. I'm really sorry!" She apologized once more.

The boy shook his head. "It's alright Mrs. McGregor." He thought she was over exaggerating things just a little. But he guessed this was because of all the nights she'd spent worrying instead of sleeping and how many times she'd seen her son given up on.

It was also partly due to the sense of helplessness she felt because of not being able to help Johnny herself.

"He hasn't done anything serious. And he didn't do anything that made me want to leave without helping. That's what I was asked to do." He said to try and ease her mind.

The Scotswoman looked at Robert (he was still looking away from her). The German was stubborn and honorable—just like his parents. Of course he wouldn't leave until he'd done what he came to do. She knew that nothing Johnny did or said—however horrible—could not persuade Robert to go.

Robert turned and looked back at her, having also noticed that she often spaced out or stared at him.

Kristen knew he'd want to get out of here at times, but the sense of commitment in the boy wouldn't let him.

"Okay, just let me know if he ever actually _does_ hurt you." Kristen looked directly into his ruby eyes as she said this.

Robert nodded, not breaking the eye contact.

Mrs. McGregor saw the determination in his eyes and for the first time since the 'accident' felt secure. She knew then—although she didn't know how she knew—that her son would be fine. It would take time, but she knew that even if she tried to force him, Robert would not leave like the others had. She found it funny that a child had more sense of responsibility than an adult.

Johnny finally had someone worth trusting.

_Now if only he would trust him..._she thought glumly. Her son was not likely to trust anyone again so soon.

Robert blinked at her again before looking away towards the clock. "You should be getting back to work..." he reminded her.

"Yes," the woman stood and walked back to the door. "And Robert," she turned slightly so she was facing the boy, hand still on the doorknob.

"Yes?" Robert was still seated on the bed. He kicked his legs some more (because, as you can imagine, after his nap he was perfectly energized).

"Thank you."

The Jurgen heir's legs stopped kicking and he got an adorable look of confusion on his face. "You're welcome Mrs. McGregor...but I didn't really do anything."

"You're helping. You've stuck around and I have a feeling that you'll stay here until Johnny's alright. That's much more than I can say for the others." the Scotswoman answered him. "So thank you."

The look of confusion was replaced by a small smile. (AN: Which in my opinion is just as adorable) "You're welcome Mrs. McGregor."

Kristen had a small smile of her own at this before she left the room and got in her car to go back to work. She was in much higher spirits now.

* * *

Meanwhile, Johnny was alone in his own room. He was lying on his bed—still curled in a tight ball.

He was not asleep, as you've probably guessed. Curled in a ball and clutching something to his chest. Johnny shook with silent sobs.

The 'something' he was holding was the only thing left that reminded him of the accident—except for the picture of Tyler that he'd thrown against the wall some time ago. The glass had shattered and he'd actually kept the photo buried deep in his dresser drawer.

But this something was different. It seemed to offer more comfort than the picture. It was his beyblade with his bitbeast Salamulyon.

The blade containing the beast had been given to him the night before the 'accident' and he'd been practicing with Tyler just before—

Johnny slammed the breaks on that train of thought right there. He _would not_ make himself cry harder. Someone might hear.

But did he want someone to hear?

No. He didn't need anyone else...even though sometimes he wished he had a best friend again. He had Salamulyon and anyway, no one could ever replace Tyler. There was also nobody he could trust enough to be a friend.

Everyone but his bitbeast had deserted him. He could tell his parents were worried and frustrated and that they were on the verge of giving up on him themselves. And Robert probably wouldn't stay much longer...

Johnny let out another sob and clutched Salamulyon a little tighter.

He wanted to trust the other boy, it would make everything so much easier. But he couldn't. There was no way of knowing if Robert would stay very long...odds were he wouldn't.

Johnny had made the mistake of trusting Lauren—she'd been here before Robert. The Scotsman had told her everything, fully trusting her and believing that she would help him. But in the end, he'd proved too much for her to handle and she'd—

The boy stopped himself yet again and swallowed in an attempt to slow his crying and keep himself quiet.

He wanted so badly for someone to comfort him. His mother, his father, even Robert—anyone really so long as they cared. But no matter how hard he tried, he just ended up pushing everyone away.

He really couldn't blame them for leaving him alone at times. It was his own fault and he was even frustrated himself with these constant outbursts.

Unfortunately, his own frustration didn't help matters any.

Johnny curled himself up even tighter and held Salamulyon still closer as he cried harder. He made it a point to still keep himself quiet though.

Why can't he just agree with himself? It made him feel insane—fighting with himself like that. Bringing up the pros and cons of trusting and not trusting. Somehow not trusting always won though.

Oh how he hated life right now!

* * *

That night at the dinner table, the mood was very different.

Kristen McGregor was in a much better mood now having much confidence that Johnny would, eventually, be fine.

She had of course called her husband and told him about her conversation with Robert and how she'd seen the determination in his eyes.

Don on the other hand, wasn't as sure about this whole thing as his wife. But he was willing to believe that Robert would at least stay the longest out of everyone they'd gotten to help.

Part of the reason Don doubted that Johnny would ever be totally fine was because of what had happened when he had taken his son dinner only a few moments ago (for Johnny refused to leave his room for whatever reason). When he'd gotten there, Mr. McGregor had noticed no improvement whatsoever. In fact, he'd noticed that his son had been crying.

When the man had returned downstairs, he'd opted not to tell his wife this. She was so happy now and he didn't want to ruin the mood.

Robert was with them and he too looked better. He wasn't as tired as he normally was and he was quite comfortable in the McGregor's mansion/castle by now.

All in all, dinner that night was a slightly more enjoyable than usual. Well, as enjoyable as it can be with one member missing due to the fact that he hadn't come out of his room since the 'accident'.

Later, when it was time to turn in for the night, the mood was still light.

Robert had already gone to bed and Mr. and Mrs. McGregor were headed for their own bedroom now.

It was peaceful in the house at night and the two had heard no noise from either of the boys' rooms when they passed.

The McGregors reached their own room and entered. This was is when Don chose to tell his wife that he'd noticed Johnny had been crying earlier.

She shook her head, "The poor thing. He's probably extremely confused about his feelings...and everything that's happened." The woman sighed. "I get so worried about him."

"I know, I do too." her husband came over and wrapped his arms around her. "But it's like you said, Robert should have him straightened out soon enough."

* * *

There you go! Another chapter goes by and still the 'accident' has not been revealed. Actually, nothing much really happened in this chapter...ah well, I'm taking it slow alright? XD

You either hate me now, or are congratulating me on my ability to create extreme expense.

Whichever it is, review please!!

The next update might not be for a while because I kinda need to get more writing done before I can post some more...just hang in there and be patient with me alright?


	6. Chapter 6

Here is chapter six!! Thanks to everyone who reviewed for chapter five!!

I know this probably took a while getting here, but I think that I've got a pretty consistent updating system....

Well, nothing much else to say here except ENJOY!

...

I lied. There is something more I would like to say.

This is the chapter you've all been waiting for!!! You know, the one where all is revealed!

* * *

Robert was yanked from his peaceful slumber by a sudden shout coming from the room next door. He couldn't tell what—if anything—had been said, but the voice was unmistakable. Johnny.

Something told him the other boy was still asleep, although he had no real way of knowing this. The German was also suspicious of another nightmare. They seemed to persistently bother Johnny, and Robert had heard the redhead fall off the bed many times before (the boy was obviously tossing and turning a lot), but he'd never once heard him make any other noise.

He guessed that this dream must be worse than the previous ones for some reason. Robert was about to go investigate when he heard another shout.

"No!" The voice from next door was louder than before, and not soon after Robert heard the sound of feet coming down from the third floor. Johnny's parents.

The purple haired boy scrambled hurriedly out of his bed and left the room, closing the door behind him. He watched Johnny's parents enter the next room and paused a moment in the hallway before following them.

He remained standing in the open doorway, watching and not quite sure when (or if) he should intrude.

As Robert had suspected, the redhead had had (or rather, was having) another nightmare. The other boy was curled into a tight ball on the bed once again. His arms were crossed and as the German watched, he could see how Johnny was digging his nails into his arms—like he was frustrated about something. His eyes were clenched shut and he was trembling.

Mr. and Mrs. McGregor were standing at the side of their son's bed, looking worried. Kristen sat down on Johnny's bed and touched his shoulder gently, testing to see if he was asleep. She felt his body tense under her hand and the trembling ceased immediately. She slid her other hand to his forehead. He had a fever. Again.

Her son was still asleep, and she could tell that he would probably start tossing and turning like crazy soon. She took her hand off his forehead and placed it next to the other one on his arm. She then shook him gently and still had her hands on him when his body convulsed. Kristen pulled her hands back quickly as he turned onto his back.

Don reached down and pushed some of his son's messy red hair out of the boy's face. "Johnny, wake up," he said sternly.

The boy didn't respond so his father tried again, "Johnny!" His voice was louder as he shook his son slightly.

This time, Johnny's eyes flew open. He stared up at his two parents, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his fast breathing. Then his expression darkened and he shoved himself away from them. He was now facing in Robert's direction, but he didn't seem to see the German.

"Johnny—" his mother began.

"Go away." the boy muttered, his back to his parents.

"Johnny, please talk to us. We know this has been hard for you and you've been through a lot, but if you just talk to us—tell us how you feel—I know you'll feel so much better! You could be happy again—so much sooner if you'd just talk to us." Kristen yet again tried desperately to get him to talk.

Johnny was staring fixedly at a spot on the wall. He still hadn't looked Robert's way, and the German thought the boy might be purposefully ignoring him.

The redhead sighed. "No. That's not true—I told Lauren everything...she said the same things you did! She also thought it would make me feel better...and look where it got me."

"But Johnny—" his father tried his luck with the stubborn boy.

"No!" came the firm reply, "besides, you both already know everything that happened. What more do you need to know?" The voice had its harsh tone back.

"How you feel. How this is affecting _you_ so we can help you!" the Scotswoman took over the conversation again. Everyone in the room was getting frustrated with the others...not a very good situation with McGregors.

Kristen reached out and grasped her son's shoulder again, "Please, just talk to us. If you don't, this could haunt you forever." She thought she might be taking things just a little too far, but she knew she had to be firm to get anywhere with her stubborn son.

Johnny rolled over and violently smacked his mother's hand away. "I thought you were supposed to be a psychiatrist. Besides, I don't want to talk to you...I don't **need** to talk to **anyone**. They'll just..." he trailed off, still sounding angry but not wanting to finish.

Don and Kristen were slightly stunned that Johnny had just hit his mother, but they'd been at the receiving ends of his tantrums plenty of times before. This was really nothing new to them.

"Listen to me!" The boy's father had a temper of his own. "What is wrong with you? Was that really necessary? And why won't you talk to us?" The Scotsman asked these questions in rapid succession, not really giving his son any time to answer.

The man was really fired up now, and Johnny's reply only made it worse.

"Yes that was necessary, because you two never leave me alone! I won't talk to you and you can't help me, so get out!" His voice had raised to a shout and he glared up at them before rolling back to stare at the wall once again.

"Now you listen here you little—" his father raged.

"Maybe you should leave him alone for a while." Robert finally decided to intervene before things got too ugly.

Johnny shifted his gaze to the German in the doorway, fixing the other boy with his stare.

Mrs. McGregor sighed. "Alright, come on you two." She stood up, sounding exhausted. Suddenly, she wasn't very angry anymore. Just tired of all this.

"That boy needs a lesson, Kristen. _I'm not just going to let this behavior continue!_" Don was still clearly very unhappy with Johnny's actions.

"I'll stay here and make sure he gets back to sleep." Robert informed the couple rather than suggesting.

"Robert, honey I—" Kristen started.

"No Robert. We can't let you stay here with him," her husband cut her off. "Besides, it's not like you could do much anyway, seeing as he won't even talk to **us**." He gave his son a stern look, of which the boy was completely oblivious.

The Jurgen's red eyes flashed in anger and annoyance as he watched the couple.

"What makes you think I'd talk to you?" Johnny's voice came out softer than he'd intended.

Robert flicked his eyes back to Johnny. "Did I say I wanted to talk? I only remember saying that I'd stay here and make sure you went back to sleep."

The plum eyes just glared at him.

"Well, I suppose..." Mrs. McGregor trusted the Jurgen heir much more than her husband did. She also trusted her son more, for that matter.

"Kristen, I'm not really sure—"

"Well I don't see anything wrong with this," she caught her husband's still angry tone and ignored it, stopping him from saying anything he would regret later, "I'm going back to bed." The woman headed towards the doorway, telling Robert on the way out, "Come and get us if there's any trouble."

The German nodded and stepped aside to let her pass. Her husband left shortly after—albeit with much angry grumbling—and slammed the door behind him.

Silence reigned for some time before the Scot decided to speak.

"When are you gonna leave?"

"Pardon?" the ever-proper boy asked.

"I said: When are you leaving?" Johnny repeated himself a little louder and meaner.

"I told you a while ago, I don't plan on going anywhere for a while." Robert informed the other boy again.

The redhead seemed mildly surprised by this answer. "Oh...."

There was complete quiet once more for about fifteen minutes. Then the Jurgen grew impatient and decided he had better start a conversation, since the Scot seemed incapable of falling asleep. Who knows, he may even get some answers out of the other boy tonight.

Robert crossed the room and stood next to Johnny's bed. The boy rolled purposefully over on the bed and was now facing away from Robert.

Strangely, the German found himself resisting the urge to reach out and poke the Scotsman's back. He had to admit it was very tempting (not to mention childish), but he knew it would instantly get him off on the wrong foot with Johnny.

"What was your dream about?" the older asked as casually as possible.

The redhead shifted his position on the bed, "What it's about every night," came the quiet reply.

"And what is it about every night?" Robert probed further, eager for answers that he know knew Johnny probably wouldn't give.

Johnny shivered; he was obviously reluctant to talk. But at least he wasn't being as harsh as he usually was with his parents. Something about Robert made the Scot willing to trust him more—but then he'd felt that way about some of the others as well.

But did he want to tell Robert? The answer was yes. But then he could really risk trusting anyone else? No. Or was it yes?

Johnny realized he was arguing with himself again. This was pathetic, and he just decided he would have to talk sometime, so why not now? And what harm could one more person abandoning him do to his heart? (A/N: Poor little Johnny!)

"Johnny?" the soft voice was accompanied by the bed sinking slightly, meaning Robert had sat down.

"It's about what happened...the 'accident.' And then they all leave me and we find Lauren—dead."

Deciding to ask about the 'accident' later, Robert focused his question on the second part of the dream.

"They?"

Johnny hugged himself tightly. "All the people my parents got to try and help. Sometimes my parents leave too...Tyler's parents always go."

Robert wracked his brain to remember who Tyler was. Oh yes, he was Johnny's best friend. But there was still a name he didn't recognize.

"Who was Lauren?" He was still speaking softly, though not quite whispering. In fact, they both were for some reason.

"Lauren was here before you." Suddenly, Johnny was acting more like the kid he was supposed to be. He was oddly shaky—that must have been a pretty bad nightmare.

Robert waited a while before he spoke again, "What happened to Lauren?" he asked cautiously. It seemed Johnny was willing to answer his questions.

"My mom told me it wasn't my fault...that Lauren had other things going on in her life. A bad family, a bad relationship... Mum also said that she really shouldn't've been a psychiatrist. Lauren—" He turned and looked at Robert with tears in his plum eyes, "They found her in her room. She was dead—she was dead because she'd killed herself." He sniffled and averted his gaze away quickly, not wanting to cry...not in front of Robert—not in front of anyone. "She would rather have been dead than stay here and help me."

The older of the two was stunned by this and not sure how to respond. Because of this, silence reigned for a long while.

Finally, the silence was broken when Robert heard the faint sounds of Johnny trying to keep himself quiet and not cry.

He felt really bad for the redhead and wondered if there was any way he could really help.

"If you're going to tell me anything else, you should probably start at the beginning. With the accident." Robert said this gently.

The other boy nodded, but he still took some time to calm down before he could tell the German his story.

"It was a nice day, sunny and warm out. Tyler and I just got our beyblades and we were eager to try them out," he paused.

Robert understood this, he'd wanted to use his beyblade the moment he'd gotten it too.

Then Johnny continued, "We asked our parents to take us to the park." Here the Scot paused yet again and swallowed a lump in his throat, taking a few deep breaths before he continued. "My mom and his mom were both there, watching us to make sure nothing happened and to be sure we didn't hurt ourselves."

Here he gave a small sad smile, as if that last sentence was a cruel joke. This smile quickly faded and was replaced with more tears in the boy's eyes.

"What happened at the park Johnny?" Robert asked just to get the Scot talking again.

Johnny swallowed back the tears and then picked up his story where he'd left off, "We were practicing, minding our own business and having fun while our mothers talked."

There was yet another pause and Robert guessed that the story was nearing an important part. The redhead seemed very reluctant to continue and he looked as if he could cry at any second.

They sat in that silence for a long time, the only sound was Johnny's ragged breathing as he tried to work up the courage to say what he wanted to say—he still wasn't even sure if he should say it.

Robert was still watching the other boy and was almost ready to tell Johnny that he didn't have to continue if he didn't want to when he heard the other boy let out a choked sob.

Johnny rubbed the tears that were forming out of his eyes and the ones that had already fallen off his face, stopping his crying abruptly. Then he rolled onto his back so that he had more places to look than at Robert.

Staring up at the ceiling, the Scot continued, "We were at the back of the park, far away from other people. There were these really thick bushes behind Tyler..." here Johnny wiped away some more tears, "My blade smashed his and they both went over into the buses. We-we went over to get them. We didn't see the snake—didn't know it was there."

There was an even longer stop here as the redhead made a vain attempt to calm himself.

"Are you okay?" the German was concerned that the other boy was over exerting himself unnecessarily, and he didn't want the Scot to have to relay the events if the boy didn't want to or couldn't.

Johnny nodded stiffly, tears betraying him by trailing down his face.

"Can you finish?" Robert asked gently.

The Scot nodded one more time before sniffling slightly and releasing a shaky breath. He didn't even bother to wipe away any tears this time.

"Sorry..." he apologized unnecessarily and uncharacteristically as the Jurgen took his turn to nod.

"Go on."

"We didn't even see the snake. Not until it lashed out and bit Tyler." Johnny sniffled again and wiped more tears from his cheeks. "Mum said that the snake must've had its nest there...I didn't know what happened. But then the snake bit me too."

At this point in the story the redhead's hand lightly touched a spot on his left leg just above the knee.

Robert remained silent, knowing that there must be more to the story. And he was right. Not long after, Johnny continued.

"They rushed us us to the hospital. Our parents were really worried...I don't remember much after that...all I know is we were both given the anti venom—"

Johnny paused here yet again to try and bring himself under control.

"But it must've been too late for Tyler. Because when I woke up—he was gone."

Here Johnny stopped and just cried—that was about all he could do after reliving such events.

Robert meanwhile felt extremely sympathetic towards the other boy. Robert really couldn't imagine losing anyone close to him. "I'm sorry..." he felt he may just cry himself if he chose to dwell on the subject much longer.

Johnny nodded several more times before surprising Robert and speaking again through his tears. "And the w-worst p-part is that his p-parents blamed me for T-Tyler dying. Th-they haven't talked to my family s-since and—and I wasn't allowed i-into the funeral."

"What?" the German found this to be horrible and suddenly detesting these people he'd never met. "You do know it's not your fault though. There's nothing you could have done."

"I-I know." The voice was full of fresh despair and was thick with tears, "But that doesn't make it any easier." Johnny dissolved into tears again, rolling back onto his side. Facing away from the door.

And he was right. Robert realized it would be terrible to lose a friend, then be blamed for it—no matter how certain you were that you had nothing to do with it.

Johnny's crying eased some and soon he spoke again. "I wanted help...I wanted to forget. And at first I listened and did whatever they said would make me feel b-better. But after a while, I noticed it wasn't helping. It only reminded me of that day in the park...and how it'd made Tyler's parents h-hate us."

Johnny took a break, hugging himself again and breathing deeply to try and calm his crying even more.

"I-I hated them after that...I hated everyone. I couldn't help how I acted—and they all gave up on me. Every time one of them left it hurt. I-I...I felt abandoned." The redhead's crying had mostly stopped and he was talking easier, although the voice was still tearful. "Then Lauren killed herself a-and I told myself I'd never trust anyone again. S-so much for that." He stuttered, turning to face Robert with tears still in his eyes. "Shouldn't be long before you leave too....And then I'll be back where i started."

Johnny looked away, preferring to stare at the curtains on his window than at Robert.

"No." The Jurgen's voice was still soft.

"What?" the redhead mumbled, twisting to look at his companion.

"I'm not leaving. I can't leave now, because now you trust me. So I need to stay and help you...and I will no matter what you do or say to me." The older said and crossed his arms in a stubborn way to let Johnny know he meant it.

Johnny didn't fully believe this and he looked questioningly at the German. "Promise?" he said lamely—not having any other way to ensure that the other would stay and do as he said.

"Promise." was the polite-as-ever reply.

Robert's was a voice that Johnny (and two other boys—I think you can guess who) would come to know very well over the next few years.

* * *

So there you go! All has been revealed...and I hope I didn't build that up to disappoint you.

In this chapter, I aim to make you feel something. I was so sad while writing/typing this, so I hope that I can be the kind of writer that makes people feel...

The story should be happier and altogether lighter from here on out...sorry if the story is kind of bipolar! XD

Also, another important note, this is not the end of the story!! They still have to meet...this should be fun. XD This story will also probably have a sequel, but just a warning, if there is one it'll be as plot-less as this one is. XD

I looked over this chapter myself, so if there are any errors I apologize and hope that they don't ruin the feeling or meaning in any way!

Review please?


	7. Chapter 7

Woohoo!! Chapter seven is here!

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to all my lovely reviewers and my friend Tim!! Who does not even know that this story exists, but I am just so happy that he's finally out of the hospital that I think it's necessary. XD

I also just want to mention again that after that last chapter, this story will probably be much lighter in tone and mood!

ENJOY!

* * *

"So I take it Johnny's doing better?"

"Yes, much better actually. Robert's really helping."

"That's great!"

"Yeah, although he's still not totally back to normal...I don't think he'll ever be like he was before Tyler died."

"Well it's taken him long enough just to get this far," the Frenchwoman on the other line commented.

"I'm just happy he's gotten to where he is now," Kristen told the other woman, "He's actually coming out of his room and spending time with the rest of us. He comes down for dinner and actually eats...which he hasn't done for a while, not unless he was starving."

It had been almost two months since Johnny had opened up and told Robert everything. Things were going pretty good, but the Scotsman still refused to venture out of the house—and had already promised not to go anywhere near the park.

Robert was working on that.

Johnny was also still very easily annoyed and angered—and maybe a little antisocial.

Robert was working on that too.

Actually, Robert was working on several things. He'd already fixed some things too.

And as she'd promised, Kristen had kept Antionette updated the whole time. And this current phone call had been placed to invite the Frenchwoman and her son (and Enrique of course) to come up and stay with them in Scotland for a while. She figured they all needed a break as much as she did—and, well, she was eager to get Johnny more friends...or at least expose him to other people.

On Antionette's end, the past two months were rather uneventful—though they were eventful enough to fully tire one out and leave one wanting a vacation. Her and her previous husband had come to some form of an understanding and made arrangements for both Oliver and how the whole money situation would pan out. They would have enough to get by and Antionette got to keep the house, which made her very happy. Her husband wasn't a bad man, and he wanted them to have a good life—even if he was only doing it for Oliver and Enrique.

Despite this, the woman was still not totally pleased with the outcome, but that could be dealt with later. The only thing that kept her from complaining just yet was that the court order wasn't final and that Oliver didn't have to do anything that he didn't want to.

Also, with the matter of Enrique, the Frenchwoman had received no call from the young Italian's parents asking for him back yet, so she figured that meant he could stay with her and her son for a while yet.

That was fine with her, she loved the blond like her own son. How else are you supposed to feel about a child that you raised? She also knew that Oliver would be very unhappy indeed if his best friend would have to leave.

All in all, things were going alright on both sides.

It seemed like a good time for a visit...before things got too hectic and out of control again.

"Well I'm glad he's not keeping himself locked up in solitary any more." Mrs. Boulanger (or now is it Ms. Boulanger?) paused for a brief moment, "So he's made friends with Robert then?"

The Scottish woman laughed. "You might say that...in a strange sort of way."

"Oh?"

"Yes, they aren't quite friends like Enrique and Oliver, but they get along well enough. They can sometimes be quite comical together."

The other woman laughed lightly.

After a while, Kristen got to the original reason for her call. "I take it this is a good time for a vacation?"

"Yes this would be the perfect time for a little break." Antionette answered pleasantly.

"Well then why don't you go ahead and bring the boys up here to Scotland? I'm sure they'd like it."

"Oh they certainly would," the Frenchwoman agreed. "I'm sure we can clear a spot on our schedule to come and see you guys. I'll tell the boys to start packing, we'll fly up two days from now."

"Sounds good to me," the Scotswoman then posed a question to her friend. "How long do you think you can stay?"

"I think we should be able to sacrifice a week." Antionette answered, "Is that okay for you?"

"Sure," Mrs. McGregor said, "Well I better get going...it's almost time for dinner."

"Alright, see you Saturday."

"Okay," the Scottish woman started to wrap up the conversation, but then remembered something else she might want to tell her friend. "But before I go I should probably warn you. Johnny is still a little rude and snappy."

"That's fine, I'm sure these two can handle it." Mrs. Boulanger assured the other woman.

"M'kay..." the voice was a little skeptical. "Ill see you then."

"Bye!" Antionette ended the conversation with that cheery note. She then went downstairs in search of the boys.

No doubt they were off somewhere making a disturbance.

"Mommy! Enri—"

"Don't listen to him! I didn't do anything!"

She was right.

"Yes you did! You know you did. And now mommy will know too! MOMMY!"

"No I did not! You're lying again!"

Both boys were shouting at the top of their lungs. Antionette followed the noise up another set of stairs and into Oliver's room where the boys had been playing together peacefully until now. Upon entering the room, she was attacked by both of the boys who were each shouting their own versions of what happened at her.

"Mommy mommy mommy! I was minding my own business when Enrique decided he was going to _attack_ me and he _jumped_ on me!"

"No no no no no! I did not! You pushed me off the bed first! It was self defense!"

"Well you didn't have to _jump_ on me!"

The two had turned to face each other and instead of complaining to Oliver's mother and had begun to fight with each other.

"I only did that _after_ you pushed me off and then _you jumped on me_!"

"I fell on you Enri! There is a difference."

The Frenchwoman rolled her eyes.

"Oh did you now?" Enrique retaliated, "In that case I 'fell' on you too!"

"That is not true! I know you—"

"Boys!" The woman cut Oliver off, successfully getting the boys' attention.

"What?" They said so innocently that you would have thought that they were actually innocent.

She knelt down to face the two troublemakers. "Oliver, did you push Enrique off the bed?"

"Um...maybe," her son responded, only slightly convincing.

"Yes, he did." Enrique helped.

"And Enrique," the woman rounded on the blond, "Did you jump on Oliver?"

The Italian opened his mouth to answer but Oliver cut him off.

"Yes! And he knocked _me_ off the bed in the process!"

Enrique sent his best friend a glare. "You shouldn't have pushed me in the first place."

Antionette rolled her eyes, then interrupted their bickering yet again. "Enrique, I asked you if you jumped on Oliver. Did you?"

"Well...uh...not really...I'd say it was more of a tackle."

The woman raised a delicate eyebrow. "Really?"

The Italian nodded enthusiastically.

"Oliver, what did you do after Enrique jump—ah—'tackled' you off the bed?" the Frenchwoman continued with her interrogation.

Her son gave her a mildly conceited look, "I crawled out from under him and stood up. Then I _tried_ to get away before he decided to attack me _again_, but he grabbed my ankle and I fell on him!"

"No no NO! That's not what happened _at all_! I got off you, then you got up and jumped on me!" Enrique defended himself.

"I see," Antionette said skeptically, "well if I don't get the truth, then neither of you will be going to Scotland with me."

"What?" Oliver blinked at her, suddenly quiet and less demanding.

"Scotland?" Enrique inquired, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"Yes. But I'm afraid I can't take liars to Scotland, so you two will have to stay put while I go alone." She paused for dramatic affect and to see how her son and his friend were reacting. "Maybe I'll take someone else's _good_ children," she fake pondered.

The two boys gasped.

"No no, you don't have to do that!" Oliver said whilst waving his hands out in front of him as though this would stop her from doing what she's mentioned.

"Yeah, we'll be good I promise!" Enrique backed his friend up, his own hands clasped as if praying—which in a way he was. (A/N: XD)

"Hmm..." Antionette pretended to think some more. "Maybe if I knew what really happened...?"

"Oh sure!" her son replied instantly.

"Of course, anything!" the blond promised.

"Well then, now that you've decided to tell me the truth," the woman turned to their eager faces, "Oliver, did you jump on Enrique after he knocked you off the bed?"

The green haired boy hung his head in defeat. "Yes," he mumbled.

"I see," she turned to Enrique, "And you tackled him off the bed before he jumped on you?"

The Italian nodded, eager to please, "Mmhm."

"But I do believe," the Frenchwoman said as she turned slowly to look at her son, "that you started all this by pushing Enrique off the bed in the first place."

Oliver gasped and looked at his mother with wide eyes, "Do I still get to go to Scotland?"

"That depends..." the woman tapped her chin in mock thought, "are you sorry?"

Catching the hint, Oliver turned his head quickly to face Enrique. "Sorry I pushed you off the bed Enri."

"You should be," the blond said smugly.

"And Enrique," Mrs. Boulanger continued, "would you like to apologize for your actions?"

"But I didn't—" the Italian stopped short when he saw Antionette cross her arms. "I'm sorry Oli," he instantly changed his mind about apologizing.

"I forgive you." Oliver accepted the apology properly to earn himself points with his mother.

"Well I guess that's that." The woman stood up and turned back towards the door. "I'll be seeing you two," she said as she began to leave.

"Wait!"

Two small figures attached themselves to her legs, stopping all movement and immobilizing her.

"Yes?" She looked down at her son.

"What about Scotland?" he asked innocently.

"Oh yes. I suppose I did mention that..." She pretended to just remember, "Perhaps if you two would let me go I could tell you more."

They instantly detached themselves.

Antionette strolled casually past them and sat at the foot of her son's unnecessarily large bed.

The boys followed her at lightning speed and sat down on either side of her.

"My friend Kristen has invited us to come and visit her and her family in Scotland. We'll be staying at her house for a week," the woman began to explain.

Enrique scrunched his face up, "Will there only be adults there?"

Antionette laughed. "I'm sure you two could entertain yourselves if it was only adults. But no, there will be other children there."

"Who?" Oliver wanted to know, delicately swinging his legs.

"I know their son Johnny will be there. And his friend Robert should be there too. They're both around your age." She told the two. Then she thought for a bit before adding on, "Kristen told me that Johnny can be a little mean sometimes, so I want you two to be nice. And be on you best behavior."

"Oh don't worry," Oliver assured his mother, "I'm always on my best behavior."

"And so am I." Enrique told the woman.

"That's good to know," she informed them.

"When do we leave?" the French boy asked her.

"Saturday," Antionette answered, "so we had better get packing."

"Okay!" Oliver jumped off his bed.

"This is gonna be fun!" the blond followed his friend off the bed.

"Yes it is." Antionette agreed, watching as the two ran off to Oliver's closet to find his suitcase.

* * *

In Scotland, Robert climbed the stairs and entered Johnny's room with confidence.

The Scot was sitting by his window, staring out and looking bored rather than sad. He turned to the German when he heard the other boy enter the room. "Hey," he mumbled a greeting.

"Your mother just told me we'd be getting some guests here this weekend." Robert told the redhead.

"Really?" Johnny adjusted himself so he was sitting facing Robert, his back to the window and his feet dangling over the edge of the window seat. "Who?"

The Jurgen took a seat on Johnny's bed, directly across from the other boy. "Her friend Antionette, her son Oliver, and his friend Enrique."

"Hmm..." this was Johnny's only response.

Robert guessed that the other boy was thinking of ways to stop this visit from happening. Or at least on how to corrupt the visit in some way.

"Your mother also said that she wants you to try your hardest to be polite and civil."

Johnny snorted. "Yeah, we'll see. Did my dad have anything to say?"

"He said that you better play nice with the other kids, or he'll leave you to rot on the moor." Robert repeated what Mrs. McGregor had told him her husband said.

"Figures..." Johnny muttered, "Too bad I won't."

Robert sighed. "Why must you always be so set on being antisocial and rude?"

"Because people are antisocial and rude to me." Johnny defended himself, sounding to Robert a little like the Scot was mocking him.

"Well they expect you to at least try and be _friendly_. And for that matter so do I." The German stressed to the stubborn boy.

There was silence for a while. (A/N: It appears that silence likes Johnny...it always seems to happen when he's around.)

"I think I'm getting sick," Johnny said.

"Oh really? What a shame," Robert didn't believe the other boy for a second. He knew Johnny better than that. "I hope you don't get our guests sick. That would make for a very unpleasant trip for them indeed."

The Scot crossed his arms with a huff. "Oh alright! I accept that they're coming and I can't change that."

"Good."

"But I won't play nice with the other kids."

"Yes you will." Robert told him.

"No, I don't think I will."

The German rolled his eyes, "Well I think you should at least try."

"I'm not promising anything." Johnny said adamantly.

Robert slid off the bed. "You'd better be nice...I don't think you'll want to make a bad impression."

"I think I _do_ want to."

The ruby eyed boy heaved a huge sigh at the other boy's defiance and asked to no one in particular: "Why are you so stubborn?"

"I dunno." Johnny shrugged, sarcasm edging his voice. Then a thought struck him. "When will they be here? And more importantly, when are they leaving?"

"They'll be here on Saturday. I believe that they're staying for a week." Robert answered in a nearly emotionless voice.

"Great." Yet more sarcasm.

"Yes, it is," Robert shot back, "Now let's go. It's time for dinner."

"Of course your royal majesty." Johnny followed the German our of his room, still not looking forward to the upcoming visit.

* * *

There you go, another chapter!!

I hope you enjoyed it...Also, they all do have their beyblades by now...I just didn't really want to describe that because it's not that interesting to me. All you need to know is that they got them from their fathers.

Review please? I do so love it when you do.


	8. Chapter 8

Wow, have I been gone a looong time....Heh, sorry about that. I know I really shouldn't make excuses, but there has been a French exchange student here and things have been a little busy.

Well then, here you are!! I know you've had a long wait and I thank you for your patience!

Enjoy!!

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

"No sweetie, but we should be getting there soon enough." Antionette Boulanger answered the persistent question for about the millionth time since stepping onto the private jet.

Oliver sighed and went back to staring out the window. This mundane task was made much harder than it should have been due to the fact that the blond Italian seated next to him insisted on leaning over in front of Oliver and pressing his own face against the glass.

"Enri," the Frenchman said unpleasantly, "could you please **sit down** so I can look out the window?"

His best friend turned to him, hands on the window sill to keep him from falling onto the smaller boy. "But I wanna look out the window too," he pouted.

"Well there are only a hundred different window seats here Enri," the green-haired boy said as he spread his arms to emphasize his point. "Why don't you go sit in one of them?"

Enrique grumbled and reseated himself properly in his chair, crossing his tanned arms. "I don't really care what's out there anyway..." he mumbled, more to himself than to the boy next to him.

The woman seated across the aisle had been watching the two and presently shook her head, returning to her newspaper. Those boys were making the flight longer than it had to be.

They rode on in relative silence for a while. The only sounds were they two boys' talking and occasional laughter.

Suddenly, there was a lull in the conversation, and Enrique became very bored—having no window to look out of. He glanced over at Oliver; the French boy was looking out his window, blissfully unaware of Enrique's boredom.

Watching his best friend, the Italian got a sudden idea that he believed would end his boredom.

He very stealthily stretched his leg in the green-haired boy's direction and kicked the side of his ankle gently.

Oliver made no response (deliberately ignoring his friend), so Enrique reached over and poked his arm.

This time, the Frenchman swatted Enrique's hand away. "Stop bothering me Enri, I'm _trying_ to look out the window here!"

"Sorry Olive, I'm just bored." The blond defended himself playfully.

"Don't call me Olive!" the younger boy scolded his best friend. "And if you're bored, find something better to do than annoy me!"

"But there is nothing better," the other complained under his breath very quietly, not wanting his companion (who had returned to staring out the window) to hear.

Enrique sat absentmindedly swinging his feet and staring at the ceiling in a very bored fashion.

The boy's kicking, however, was creating a rather repetitive (and thus annoying) rhythm—thudding and twanging slightly every time his legs came in contact with the seat.

He quickly discovered this and amused himself with it, watching his legs as he moved them and tried out different tempos and patterns. It turned into a sort of game. He wanted to see how far he could take this before he annoyed either Oliver or Mrs. Boulanger.

It was only about two minutes before the boy next to Enrique turned to face the Italian.

"Could you please stop that?!"

From her seat in the next aisle, Antionette chuckled to herself.

"What?" Enrique ceased his kicking, question sounding innocent enough. "It's not bothering anyone."

"Yes it is Enri, it's bothering me."

"But all you're doing is looking out a window! How does that need any concentration?" The blond had gotten the reaction he wanted—fighting with Oliver was much more entertaining than annoying him. Although, the Italian reflected, it was normally Oliver who started these fights.

The Frenchman sighed in annoyance. "You're impossible," he said, pronouncing the last word in a way that was slightly French. English was not the boys' first language—although they did speak it rather well. Sometimes Oliver found himself switching back to the French pronunciations and sometimes even words.

"Well you can be pretty impossible yourself," Enrique said, taking care to pronounce 'impossible' in an exaggerated American accent.

"Whatever." The French boy huffed and returned to his continuous gaze out the window.

Enrique was once again left to sit in silence and boredom, looking around for anything that could possibly entertain him.

Over the top of her paper, Antionette watched the Italian carefully.

Not finding anything that could keep him entertained for an entire plane ride, the boy abandoned his search and instead flipped himself so that he was sitting upside down in his chair. His legs were now resting on the back of the seat, arms and head dangling over the edge.

Oliver noticed this odd behavior and turned his head to look at his best friend, one eyebrow raised copying the look he'd seen his mother give so many people. "What are you doing?" he asked carefully, as though afraid of the answer.

The blond simply smiled at his friend and said, "Nothin'." His face was red from being seated the opposite way of how he was supposed to, and this smile made him look quite sinister.

The Frenchman feared for his friend's sanity. He shook his head (once again doing what he'd seen his mother do many times and making himself look a lot like her in the process) and returned to look at the beautiful world outside his window.

Enrique sighed and flipped himself upright again. His plans had been foiled once again by the other boy's insistence on staring out that window for the entire trip. This was one of the _longest_, _slowest_, most _boring_ plane rides he'd ever been on.

He just had to get Oliver's attention away from that cursed window!

The young Italian smirked, yet another idea forming in his mind—this time on how to get his friends focus away from the window. He got up onto his knees and once again leaned across Oliver's seat. Placing his hands on the window sill he asked casually, "What's so interesting out there?"

The green-haired boy frowned at his blocked view and folded his small arms. "Enri, sit down! I can't see!"

"Well if I sit down, then _I_ won't be able to see!"

"Then move to another window seat!"

Enrique shook his head stubbornly. "Don't wanna." He stretched forward further and rested his elbows on the sill. "This seat has the best window."

"Enri, I'm sure there's nothing wrong with the other windows!" As Oliver said this, he tried to shove the Italian to the floor by pushing on the boy's shoulder and arm closest to him.

"Yes there is." Enrique promised his friend, managing to keep his elbows firmly planted on the window sill despite Oliver's best attempts.

Giving up, the Frenchman crossed his arms with a huff. "Mom, are we there yet?"

"We should be there real soon," the woman answered.

"Thankfully...Enri sit down!"

"Fine!" Enrique finally gave in, sitting back down. "There's nothing special out there anyway."

There were about two seconds of silence.

Then Enrique discovered that he was bored once again. He decided to try a different approach this time.

"Oli, I'm really bored!" the Italian complained.

He didn't get a response.

"What could you possibly be looking at that is so amazing?!"

There still was no reply from the French boy.

"I'm bored!" the blond proclaimed.

This time, Oliver giggled quietly.

"What's so funny?!" Enrique demanded.

"You," his companion answered simply.

"Have you just been letting me sit here bored because it kept _you_ from getting bored?!" the blond asked incredulously, suddenly understanding.

Giggling a little more, Oliver nodded in a way that would have been adorable if one hadn't been mad at him...which Enrique just happened to be at the moment.

"Well I'm glad one of us is having a good time!"

"Calm down boys," Antionette said over Enrique's shouting and Oliver's laughing.

The Italian stopped yelling and sighed. "Are we there yet?"

"We land in five minutes." The Frenchwoman answered the question for what she hoped would be the final time.

"Finally!" Enrique exclaimed, buckling himself in.

Oliver was still giggling quietly as he did the same.

* * *

"Johnny, sit still!"

"Make me," the Scot mumbled so that only the German boy he was sitting next to could hear.

Robert looked at the redhead with unconcealed disapproval. "You should listen to your mother more."

Johnny rolled his plum eyes, then spoke up. "Yes mother dear!" he called to the woman.

The boy's words obviously held no meaning because seconds later he was caught shifting his position constantly and 'accidentally' knocking his mother's purse and other belongings to the ground.

"Johnny!" His mother was really serious this time.

"Alright alright!" He retrieved the purse and sat back down. "Don't have a cow," he added as a mumble.

Robert sighed. He was bored, too, but he had more self-control than Johnny did it seemed.

When the Scotsman was bored, he was insufferable.

When Johnny got bored, he got miserable. And when he was miserable, he was annoying to those around him. Now, it's understandable that nearly all children are annoying when they're bored...but Johnny was worse. He aimed to be annoying and to get you as mad as he could—it was almost like a game for him.

Anyway, boredom was the reason for the Scot's behavior...part of the reason at least. Robert knew that Johnny still wasn't looking forward to this visit. There was nothing the older boy could do about this, and Johnny's anger at not getting his way was also part of the reason for his rebellious actions.

Robert decided that he'd just have to try his best to keep Johnny in check when the visitors got there.

The two boys were seated on a bench at the airport, not-so-eagerly awaiting these guests. Mrs. McGregor was standing a little ways away, and had left her purse next to Johnny—this was the reason the boy could so easily push it to the floor...which he had just done again.

"Johnny," Robert scolded, "pick that up and don't touch it again."

"Fine!" The redhead snapped back, placing the bag none too carefully on the bench once again.

After what seemed like an hour—although in actuality it was only several minutes—a voice announced over the intercom about the arrival of a private plane from France.

"Well it's about time!" Johnny was glad that they'd gotten here at last. He'd been thinking during the time he'd been forced to sit still and now thought that maybe this little visit would provide some entertainment for him over the next week....

* * *

Three people climbed down the staircase that had been wheeled over to the jet. In the lead was a very hyper blond. Enrique was overjoyed at finally being released from his perpetual boredom into this new environment that was Scotland.

The Frenchman was not far behind his friend; it seemed that the hours spent in the air had made them both very restless indeed.

Antionette, meanwhile, was excited in her own grown-up way. She hadn't seen her friend in years and was anxious to meet Kristen's son. But it wouldn't look proper if she were to be seen bounding down the stairs like her son was.

Being as rich and important as they were, customs weren't really a problem and they all got through easily.

It turned out that the first member of the McGregor household they met was the chauffeur. He and two other servants took their luggage to the car while Antionette and the boys set off to find Kristen.

Their search was relatively short since the chauffeur had kindly pointed them in the right direction.

"Kristen!" The Frenchwoman called to her friend.

"An! There you are. I was beginning to think you'd fallen off the plane!"

The green-haired woman laughed. "No such luck I'm afraid."

Kristen joined her friend's laughter and embraced the other woman once she was close enough.

Meanwhile, Oliver seemed to have rather suddenly contracted shyness. (If it is even possible that one can catch shyness like an illness—it has yet to be proven.) The Frenchman refused to move another step towards the bench and stayed behind Enrique. Cautiously, he peeked around his friend's shoulder at the strange new faces.

Both Johnny and Robert noticed the boy's timid behavior—and they both realized at the same time that Johnny could use this against the smaller boy.

Taking his eyes off the new arrivals, Robert watched Johnny, almost afraid to see what the Scot would do.

As the German watched carefully, his redheaded companion stuck his tongue out childishly at Oliver. He wondered—but at the same time didn't want to know—where Johnny could possibly be going with this.

The blond Italian looked confused when he noticed this action, but it did manage to coax Oliver out of his hiding place. The green-haired boy stepped out from behind Enrique and placed his hands on his hips; raising an eyebrow in the Scot's direction.

By this time, Kristen and Antionette had finished their greeting and decided that it was time to introduce the boys to each other. (A/N: This should be fun...XD)

Oliver promptly dropped his accusing stance as he noticed his mother turn towards them.

"Kristen," she began proudly, "this is my son Oliver and his friend Enrique."

"Hello boys," Kristen greeted them in that friendly tone adults use when they're talking to children. "I hear you two are quite the trouble makers."

"Oh no. Not me. It's always his fault." Oliver defended himself and pointed at Enrique.

"It is not," Enrique muttered defiantly.

"Now boys," Antionette said stopping the argument before it began. "I think you both contribute equally to the trouble making."

Oliver shrugged, acknowledging the fact, and Enrique sent him a quick glare that said he didn't quite agree.

The Scotswoman smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She then spent a few seconds looking over them. "He looks just like you An!"

The young Frenchman blushed slightly and Enrique smirked at him. This caused Kristen to chuckle slightly while Antionette just smiled and glowed with pride.

"An, boys, this is my son Johnny and that's Robert." Kristen took her turn to introduce her group.

"Hello, I've certainly heard a lot about you." Antionette used the same tone her friend had earlier.

Johnny simply ignored the woman. Instead, he waved at Enrique and Oliver with a smirk of his own.

"It's nice to meet you," the ever proper and polite Robert replied. He ignored the behavior of the others, finding it much too childish. He made it a point to be as civil as he could.

"A pleasure to meet you as well, Robert." Mrs. Boulanger replied. She was impressed. "He certainly is polite isn't he?" the woman said to her long-time friend.

"Yes...quite a contrast to Johnny," the other woman responded with a slightly bitter tone to her words.

Johnny slid off the bench and sauntered over towards the Frenchman and the Italian, leaving Robert to wonder what he was up to.

The two adults and the German boy watched with curiosity. Robert sensed trouble brewing and followed Johnny, taking the few steps toward the other boys.

"Hi Johnny..." Enrique greeted carefully. "Hey Robert."

At this point, the two women thought it was best to leave them to get better acquainted for a while and started to reminisce together about 'back in the day' instead.

The red-eyed boy nodded in reply to the other boy's greeting while Johnny smirked again.

Oliver crossed his arms. "What's that face for?"

"Oh nothing," Johnny said as Robert and Enrique watched; they both knew that trouble was brewing now—problem was, they dealt with it in two completely different ways.

"Well there has to be some reason for it," Enrique shot back smartly.

The Scot dropped his smirk and frowned. "Shut up blondie," he said none too pleasantly.

"Johnny, be nice." Robert tried to remind the boy of the agreement they'd made earlier.

The Scotsman only snorted, "Yeah, okay."

The conversation paused for a minute, the silence alerted the two women who had been talking. They now watched the boys with interest.

Johnny was watching Oliver, who still had his arms crossed. An idea came to mind about how he could annoy the younger boy. "You look a lot like a girl."

"Johnny!" the boy's mother was outraged by his words.

"What? He does," Johnny said matter-of-factly.

"Johnny!" the woman said yet again. "I'm so sorry about that..." Kristen apologized to her friend. "He's still a little--"

"That's alright," Antionette assured her, "I expected him to not be perfectly behaved."

Oliver stood straighter, arms still crossed, and said, "At least I look better than you do."

Enrique giggled. The two grown-ups, however, were concentrating too hard on their own conversation (which consisted of many apologies and then assurances that the apologies did not need to be made) and didn't notice. And anyway, Oliver had said this softly enough so that only the three other boys could hear.

Johnny's mouth opened slightly in shock before he mumbled, "Well we can't all be as pretty as you..."

Enrique frowned, wondering what the Scot had said. Oliver—who had actually heard—simply said, "I know, and I feel so sorry for you because of that."

"Come here you little freak!" The redhead's soon-to-be-legendary temper flared and he lunged for Oliver.

But the Frenchman responded quickly and did one of the things that he did best: found a way to get what he wanted and keep himself out of trouble.

The green-haired boy dove behind his mother and clung to her leg, feigning fear—and doing a pretty good job of it—of the Scotsman.

"Maman!" he cried, staring at the now even more angry boy with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"What is it?" The woman had been shocked out of her previous conversation and was now concerned. She followed her son's seemingly frightened gaze to look at the angry redhead.

Mrs. McGregor had seen what had happened and was quick to reprimand her own son. "Johnny! What have you done now?!"

"I didn't--"

"I don't want to hear it!" the woman exclaimed, showing her own temper. "Do not try those same tricks with me! I told you to be nice—and this is what happens?!"

Safely secure and perfectly out of trouble, Oliver began to tremble in his hiding place behind his mother's legs.

"But mum! He--" the Scot tried protesting again.

"None of that!" Kristen demanded. Then she turned to Antionette. "I'm so sorry, I probably shouldn't have invited you down so soon..."

"It's fine--" the Frenchwoman began.

"No, it really isn't," the other woman said as she crouched down and faced the 'cowering' boy. "Are you okay?" she asked gently.

"Mm-hm." Oliver nodded in a fragile way with his eyes still shining with fake tears.

Johnny rolled his eyes.

Enrique and Robert had remained silent through most of the ordeal—they'd both wanted to see how it would turn out. Now that they had seen, they both decided that they would have to have a talk with their friend later (Robert to Johnny and Enrique to Oliver).

Enrique, of course, knew his friend was faking. Over their years growing up together, the blond had taken the blame for many things that had been Oliver's fault—including several that had happened when the Italian hadn't even been in the room.

Oliver's persuasive skills were much too powerful. Enrique thought the boy might make a good actor.

Robert, however, was a little confused by the French boy's actions. _Oh well_, he thought, _I'll figure him out soon enough._ He did know that Johnny was not too fond of the youngest member of their group...it was going to take a lot of persuading to get Johnny to act civil towards _both_ of the new arrivals.

The German turned to the blond-haired blue-eyed boy next to him. "Your friend is quite..." he searched for the right word, "Unique."

Enrique turned to face his companion. "Yeah...and yours is awful strange."

Robert's lips twitched—barely containing the small smile that threatened to escape.

Yes, this would most _definitely_ be an interesting visit.

* * *

There you go!! Pretty long chapter there...but still kind of a random one.

How much longer do you want me to make the story? I can add a few more little spats and 'incidents' before I finish it if you want, or I can just get it done...you tell me what you think.

I thank you for your patience yet again!

Review??

P.S: When Kristen says 'An' she is using a nickname for Antionette...didn't know if that would confuse anyone. Also, 'maman' is what French people would say for like, 'mommy' or 'mom'.


	9. Chapter 9

I have brought you another chapter!! Finally...

Sorry this took so long, I've been awfully busy. But school will be over soon and that means I will have more time to work on my writing!!

Chapter nine already...I cannot believe it. I do believe that this is farther than I thought I would make it with this story! Thanks to everyone who reviewed or favorited or subscribed!!! I couldn't have made it this far without you! There will be at least two more chapters, maybe three if you care to stick around.

Enjoy!

* * *

The conflict at the airport had eventually been straightened out to a manageable level. This allowed them all enough peace to be able to climb into the waiting car—which was actually a limo—and head back to the McGregor's mansion. They did, however, make it a point to keep Oliver and Johnny separated for the ride.

The trip was uncomfortably quiet and everyone was relieved when they finally arrived at their destination.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing or sleeping. Enrique and Oliver had at last run out of energy and allowed jet lag to catch up with them.

The next day they had recovered completely, and now had plenty of energy. Although to acquire that energy they had slept nearly half the day away. They had woken up, eaten lunch, and were now sitting on the bed in Oliver's room, completely bored. (A/N: Boredom seems to follow Enrique like silence follows Johnny. XD)

At the moment, the two were having the age old conversation that goes something like this:

"What do you wanna do?"

"I dunno. What do _you_ wanna do?"

"I asked you first Olive. So you've gotta answer me first."

"Says who?"

"...I dunno." A pause. "What do you wanna do today?"

"Enri, I told you I don't know! You figure out something to do." Oliver told his boredom-prone friend. "I came up with something to do last time."

Enrique did not seem to remember this. "What last time?"

"You know, that one day when you were bored..." the Frenchman answered vaguely.

"But Oli! I've been bored loads of times!"

"Exactly." That was the only answer he received.

"...What?" Enrique got an adorable look of confusion on his face.

Just then there was a knock on the door and Antionette opened it and poked her head in. "Boys? What are you two up to?"

"Nothing." Enrique said, frustrated as he flopped down on the bed.

"There is absolutely nothing to do!" Oliver exclaimed, copying his friend's action and flopping down beside him.

"Well there has to be something you boys feel like doing," the woman stated, the rest of her body joining her head in the room.

The smaller of the two boys heaved a dramatic sigh. "Let me check," he said. "Enri, what do you want to do on this fine day?"

The Italian turned to look at his friend instead of the ceiling. "Haven't got a clue." With that, both went back to staring at the ceiling.

"See? Told you there was nothing."

Antionette raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really," her son answered helpfully.

"There's plenty of stuff to do here," she informed them.

"We don't feel like doing any of it." Enrique said stubbornly.

"Are you sure?" the Frenchwoman inquired.

Oliver just continued to stare up at the ceiling. "Want me to check again?"

Antionette laughed. "No, that's alright." She thought for a moment. "Why don't you go explore?"

"This house?" her son asked, sitting up.

She nodded. "It's rainy and muddy outside and I don't want you out there, so exploring would be the perfect thing to do."

"But last time we were at a new place you wouldn't let us explore," the other boy said, sitting up as well. "Remember?"

"Yes I do very well," Antionette answered, "But that's because that time we were visiting my uncle in the hospital. This time, I want you to explore. You'll get to know the house better."

"And if we get lost?" Oliver wondered.

"If you ask one of the servants they'll point you in the right direction."

"Okay! C'mon Olive let's go exploring!" Enrique was obviously excited at the idea of exploring when he had actually been given permission to do so.

"Don't call me Olive!" the Frenchman objected as he was dragged off the bed.

"Hang on," Mrs. Boulanger stopped the boys from leaving the room. "There are a few rules I want you to follow."

"Curses," the blond mumbled.

"Bummer," Oliver agreed.

"First off," the woman began, ignoring the boys' comments, " I want you to knock before you open any door. And _please_ don't try to force the locks on the locked ones. Also, do not go into the master bedroom on the fourth floor or the two rooms at the end of the third floor corridor. Those rooms are private bedrooms and I do not want to hear you've been snooping around."

"But that's half the fun of exploring!" the French boy said under his breath. Enrique nodded in agreement, but Antionette didn't seem to have heard.

"_Stick together_," the woman stressed, "And if you need me, I'll be in the front room with Kristen." The Frenchwoman stepped out into the hallway and her son and his best friend followed.

"Okay!" Enrique agreed eagerly (Oliver thought he probably didn't even plan on following the rules at all). He began to drag his smaller friend down the hall and towards adventure.

"And if you find Johnny," Antionette called after them, stopping the boys in their tracks so she could walk up to them and not have to shout down the hall. "If you see Johnny, I expect you to mind your manners. Even if he doesn't."

"I always mind my manners." Oliver assured her. Enrique gave him a suspicious look.

"Good. Now off with you!" Mrs. Boulanger said as she shooed them down the hall.

* * *

"She's letting them explore the house?!"

"Don't worry Johnny, I told her to tell them they aren't allowed in your bedroom or anywhere else like that."

"Why should they even be allowed to look around? It's not their house."

"They were bored Johnny! There wasn't much else she could do. Besides, they need to find their way around somehow...this way you don't have to show them."

Johnny 'humphed', but otherwise didn't do anything to show that—in a grudging sort of way—he was glad he didn't have to show the little freaks around.

"And they've got to have something to entertain themselves with. Goodness knows you won't have anything to do with them. In fact I'm surprised they haven't left after what happened at the airport yesterday."

"Of course I'm not going to spend time with them! I didn't invite them! I don't even want them here! And if you hadn't been talking, you might've noticed that the little girly one was being just as bad as I was!"

"I won't listen to you talk about our guests or anyone else that way! Whether you wanted them here or not, they're here now so you better get used to it." Kristen studied her son angrily for a minute. "His name is Oliver by the way. Not 'the girly one'."

"That fits him better though..." the boy mumbled.

"Well, if that's how you feel then you don't have to come out of your room until it's time for dinner. And your father will have a word with you when he comes home." With that, she turned and left the room, not even bothering to look back at the angry scowl she knew her son was giving her.

Robert had been standing next to the door completely still and quiet through the whole thing. Johnny was, of course, sitting on his favorite window seat.

The German had listened to the whole conversation without interrupting. By now he could pretty much guess how these types of conversations would end—with Johnny in some sort of trouble and very annoyed.

"Those two better not get into anything they shouldn't." Johnny grumbled.

Robert moved to sit on the bed across from Johnny's window seat. "They won't cause trouble on purpose. Not all people are like you."

The Scot glared at him. "Fine then. I hope they don't 'accidentally' get into anything they shouldn't."

The other boy sighed and slid off the bed. "Take whatever opinion you like..." he muttered. Then he caught Johnny still glaring at him. "Come on, let's go play a game of chess."

As the older boy walked towards the door to the hall, his redheaded companion slid the game from under his bed and followed Robert.

"Alright. But I'm going to win this time."

"You mean like you were going to beat me last time and the time before that and the time before that..." Robert said as he walked the short distance to his own room.

"Thanks for mentioning that." Johnny snapped as he followed.

Perhaps it should be explained that when Kristen tells Johnny to stay in his room until a certain time, she really means that he has to be in either his _or_ Robert's room until that time. This had been established by accident when the woman had told Johnny to stay in his room for several hours and had come up later to find the two in Robert's room. The German had been teaching Johnny to play chess that time. Since then, that's usually where the two went whenever Johnny was sentenced to his room.

* * *

"Ouch! Enri that was my foot!"

"Sorry! It's dark down here." The blond apologized, coming to a stop as he heard Oliver's footsteps stop.

"And who's fault is that? Mr. I-don't-want-to-look-for-the-light-switch-because-it's-not-so-dark-down-there-and-we-don't-want-to-get-discovered-looking-anywhere-we-shouldn't-be." The Frenchman said sharply as he turned to face his friend—well, where his friend's voice had come from anyway. "Let's just go back. There's nothing interesting down here."

"Okay. There's plenty of other better-lit hallways around."

With that, they abandoned their current quest and walked back down the dark hallway carefully. Oliver kept a hand on the wall to his left and Enrique made sure he stayed behind Oliver—though the Italian was careful not to step on his friend's foot again. When they were halfway back to the entrance of the hallway, visibility was getting better and Oliver saw something they hadn't noticed on the way in.

"Enri!" he whispered, stopping suddenly causing Enrique to run into him. "Watch where you're going Enrique!"

"Sorry," the other boy apologized. "What is it?"

"Look!"

"Why are we whispering?"

"A door!" Oliver said as he dragged his friend over to his discovery. The door was something unique, because all they'd come across on the other side of the hall were heavily curtained windows. They hadn't opened these curtains to let in any light because it didn't seem as though a dark and forgotten hallway classified as somewhere you were allowed to be.

"Cool..." Enrique said. He too was whispering now; it was almost as if they had uncovered some great and forbidden secret that should be kept to themselves.

"Let's open it!" The older whispered excitedly. "Who knows where it goes to!"

"But it's all the way down here in this dark hallway," the green-haired boy was a little skeptical. The door wasn't anything special exactly, but he just had a feeling that whatever was behind that door needed to stay a secret.

"That just means no one's probably been in there for a long time." Enrique didn't bother waiting for a reply and tried the handle anyway. But it was no use—the door was locked. "Curses," he mumbled, disappointed.

Oliver tugged on his friend's arm. "C'mon, it's locked. Let's go!"

The Italian gave in and they continued their trek down the now brightening hall. They had not been walking long when they unexpectedly ran into another door. Oliver regretted not switching back to the side of the hall with harmless windows.

"Try it if you want to. But I don't think it'll be unlocked." Much to the Frenchman's relief, it wasn't and the two finally left the dark and dusty hallway to explore a more inviting part of the mansion.

Their adventures led them all around the giant house, and they nearly forgot about the dusty hallway that was tucked into a forgotten corner of the mansion. They completely forgot about the knocking rule, however, and surprised many workers because of this. The two managed to steer clear of the front room where the women were talking, conveniently enough for them. They also kept their promise and stayed out of the locked rooms—but this was mostly due to the fact that neither of them could pick locks. They vowed to learn.

The boys had only seen about half of the house before Mrs. Boulanger tracked them down. She told them they only had a half-hour before dinner and made them promise to be in the dining room and ready to eat by then.

That certainly didn't mean the boys were done with their exploring yet. As soon as the woman was out of sight, they set off again. The two ran up a set of stairs and explored a few halls. This didn't take very long because they only wanted to see where these hallways led. They would look inside the actual rooms tomorrow. Then it was up another staircase and in no time at all, the boys found themselves at the end of a certain third floor corridor.

Whether they meant to end up there or not is debatable. If you were to ask Oliver's mother or Johnny, they would certainly tell you that the boys did indeed end up there on purpose. Ask anyone else and you'd get the opposite. We may never know the truth. But, on purpose or not, they were now standing in front of the door to the easily angered Scot's bedroom.

"Let's go in!" Enrique said, clearly excited at the prospect of being where he wasn't allowed.

"Uhhh..._maman_ told us not to..." Oliver said; he was clearly apprehensive. Although you really couldn't blame him. This _was_ Johnny's room, and knowing him entering without permission was probably punishable by death—at least if Johnny hated you. And let's be honest, Johnny wasn't exactly fond of either of the boys.

"Don't tell me you're scared of Johnny," the Italian said, looking at his friend in that way that seems to say 'you're a coward'.

"I am not!" came the indignant reply. "I just don't want to get in trouble that's all."

"You won't. We'll just say that we got lost. Besides, _you_ never get in trouble." The blond reached for the door handle, having every intent to open it—despite Oliver's apprehension.

"Enri! Don't!" Oliver said, pulling his friend back.

"What is it now?"

"He could be in there!" the Frenchman whispered urgently.

Enrique just smiled. "Told you you were scared of Johnny."

"Not scared," Oliver defended himself, still whispering, "Just cautious."

"If that's what you want to call it," Enrique said with a smart voice. "Scared."

"Cautious."

"Scared!"

"Cautious."

"Definitely scared."

"No, definitely cautious."

"Scaredy cat!"

"Am not!"

"Fine then. If you're too scared to go in Johnny's room, then we'll just go in Robert's." the Italian declared as he moved to the next door.

"What? No!" Oliver hurried after his friend. "Let's go down to dinner."

"Hmm...maybe we'll be eating chicken," Enrique fake-mused.

"Alright fine! I get the hint." The Frenchman's voice sounded defeated.

"Good. So you're coming with me?" The blond stopped in front of the door and turned to face his friend. He had a smug look on his face that told Oliver that the Frenchman had just lost that argument.

Oliver did some quick thinking and decided that Robert would be more understanding than Johnny. Also, he didn't like when people made fun of him. Especially when that person was supposed to be his best friend. "Okay. But you're going first."

"Fine by me Olive."

"Don't call me that!" Oliver reminded Enrique yet again as the Italian carefully cracked open the door and peeked inside.

"They're playing chess."

"You mean that boring game my grandfather likes? Let me see!" Oliver whispered as he too peeked into the room.

The two didn't go undetected for very long. Although they were probably lucky it was Robert who noticed them first.

"Yikes! He's seen us!" Enrique backed away from the door. Oliver did the same, closing the door as though it would somehow erase the fact that they'd ever been there.

Almost instantly, the door was reopened and Robert stood there looking at them with a superior look on his face. "If you wanted to come in, you could've just knocked."

"It was his idea," Oliver pointed at Enrique.

"You didn't try to stop me," the blond defended himself.

Ignoring their excuses, Robert returned to his seat on the bed across from Johnny. He had left the door open, so Enrique and Oliver inched carefully into the room.

"Your turn," the German said to his redheaded companion.

But Johnny had apparently lost all interest in the game (which he was, of course, losing) and was now smirking at the new arrivals in that dangerous way.

"Don't start anything Johnny," Robert warned, "You're already in enough trouble. And you know your father is not going to be pleased when he finds out about the conversation you had with your mother earlier." The German had said all this in an intelligent voice that made it sound like he knew everything.

"Whatever. It's not like I've never been in trouble before." The Scotsman didn't seem phased by Robert's words. He continued to watch and smirk at the other two boys.

"Hey there girly-guy," Johnny said, deciding to start something. "How's your day been?"

"Just fantastic up until now." Oliver crossed his arms and pretended not to be completely outraged outraged at being called 'girly' again.

"That's lovely. How 'bout you blondie?" The voice was dripping with that constant sarcasm that never seemed to leave Johnny's voice.

"Probably better than yours."

"And why is that?" There was anger and annoyance edging the sarcastic voice now.

"Well, considering they keep you locked up all day..." Oliver mumbled.

Johnny's smirk turned into a frown. "That's it girly! You're going to be very sorry you came here when I'm done with you..." The frown was replaced with another smirk—this one saying Johnny was plotting against the two unwanted guests.

The green-haired boy backed up a few steps. The Italian was doing his best to glare that smirk off of Johnny's face. The redhead laughed—it was the mean sounding kind of laugh that bullies use when they have effectively scared someone.

Robert sighed. "I'm sorry about him," here he paused to send his own glare at Johnny. The Scot stopped laughing and settled for simply smirking once again. "He isn't exactly a people person."

Oliver put his hands on his hips and faced Johnny with his best 'I'm better than you' look. "He doesn't scare me."

Johnny's eyes flashed deviously at this. "Oh really?"

"Yes really."

"That's enough you two," Robert stepped in before things got too ugly. "Honestly, you'd think you were enemies."

"Well we're not friends." Johnny sounded almost disgusted as he said this.

"Yes but that doesn't mean you have to be enemies." The German's tone was a little harsher, which must have meant something to Johnny because he didn't have anything else to say on the matter.

"Johnny!" Kristen's voice shouted up the stairs. "Your father's home and he wants to talk to you!" (A/N: I know I know...Kristen has to have a pretty loud voice to be able to shout up two whole flights of stairs. But come on, Johnny has that type of voice that can be way too loud and annoying—he had to get it from somewhere. XD)

Muttering angrily to himself, Johnny climbed off the bed and stomped out the door and down the two staircases.

Oliver and Enrique had begun giggling the moment they were sure Johnny was out of earshot. There was something satisfying about knowing someone you didn't like was about to be punished.

Robert sighed and slid himself off the bed, leaving the chess game as it was. This was going to be the longest week of his life if he had to keep all three of the other boys under control. "Come on, we'd better get down to dinner." The German left his room, followed by the two now slightly happier guests.

* * *

There you have it! Probably the worst, most pointless chapter I've ever written. I hope you enjoyed it all the same.

And don't ask me how they knew which room was the master bedroom on the fourth floor, or which third floor corridor she was talking about...I really don't have a clue. XD But they managed.

I'm going to try to have another chapter up by the time school ends, which will be within the next two weeks sometime.

Just to let you know, there will most likely be a sequel to this, if that interests you any!

Review?


	10. Chapter 10

Ah, we have reached chapter ten at last! Only one more chapter to go!

This chapter came rather easy for me, compared to the others. At least after I got into it. I wrote most of it very late at night, so please excuse it if it doesn't make sense at parts...I'll try and fix it the best I can!

Warning!: This chapter contains Enrique being completely random...just because he can't sleep. XD

Disclaimer: See some earlier chapters...I believe I said I wasn't going to do this again, but I do not own Beyblade. Just to be safe.

Enjoy!

* * *

At dinner that evening, nobody was in a very pleasant mood. Johnny was especially sour because he had just gotten yelled at by someone who—if possible—was even more easily angered than Johnny himself. Plus, the Scotsman _always_ had some degree of sourness saved up already.

Johnny had also taken it upon himself to make sure Mrs. Boulanger was aware of the rule her son and his friend had broken. So of course, she wasn't in the best mood either.

So to make it easier for you to be able to tell who was mad at who and for what, here's the general breakdown: Kristen and her husband were mad at Johnny for the way he'd acted earlier, Antoinette was mad at Oliver and Enrique for breaking her carefully set rules, Oliver and Enrique weren't too pleased with Johnny for revealing that they'd broken said rules, and Johnny was pretty much mad at everyone.

Robert meanwhile was actually in a very pleasant mood.

Naturally, because of the general bad mood, no one felt much like talking. Dinner was being eaten in relative silence, which was making it very uncomfortable. However, it became even more uncomfortable whenever someone would try to start a conversation, so eventually they stopped trying and settled for the silence.

Antoinette glanced over at her son, and a sudden thought came to mind. "Oliver," she said to get the boy's attention.

"Yes?" the green-haired boy answered carefully. He had decided he better be polite since he knew she wasn't in a very good mood.

"Did you remember to check your blood sugar before dinner?"

Oliver stopped eating abruptly and dropped his petite hands into his lap. This question had obviously made him nervous. "...No. I forgot," he confessed quietly as he stared down at his hands. He hoped his mother wouldn't be too angry.

Hearing this, Antoinette put down her own utensils. "Oliver, I thought you told me that you could handle that on your own! If you can't, then maybe I still need to be helping you."

Enrique looked at his best friend sympathetically. Oliver's mother worried about him a lot, which caused her to be overprotective at times—and the Italian knew how much Oliver hated it.

"I can do it, _maman_. I just—forgot." the French boy said again, not really having any other reason why he hadn't done what he was supposed to. He was still trying to avoid his mother's eyes.

"Well you better not forget again," the woman warned her son. "And I certainly hope that you'll be fine after eating. And _do not_ forget to check before you go to bed."

"Yes _maman_," Oliver said, continuing to speak in his quiet voice. He picked up his fork gingerly and resumed eating.

The McGregors and Robert had listened to the whole thing with a polite silence. Although Johnny's silence was more grumpy than polite.

As soon as dinner was over, everyone left the table and went their own separate ways—some faster than others.

Johnny followed Robert back to the German's room and they resumed their previous positions on the bed. However, they had no intention of continuing their chess game. The look on Johnny's face was a calculating one, and Robert had a feeling the Scot had something he wanted to talk about.

So Robert just sat there, patiently waiting for Johnny to speak. It didn't take very long at all.

"What's wrong with Oliver?"

The German sensed the seriousness to this question—the Scot had used Oliver's real name. "He has diabetes," Robert informed plainly. "Although I'm not entirely sure what all that involves."

"So...what's wrong with him?" Johnny repeated.

Robert took this to mean Johnny didn't understand and that what the redhead had meant to say was: "What's diabetes?" The German answered this question to the best of his abilities. "Oliver has diabetes. Diabetes is a disease...I'm not sure what all it does, but I do know that Oliver's body doesn't use sugar the way it should, so he has to be careful of what he eats."

The other boy frowned, catching the word 'disease'. "So he's sick all the time?"

"Technically no, but I suppose that's one way to put it..." Robert thought for a moment. "If you want a clearer explanation, you should talk to your parents. Or better yet Oliver himself."

Johnny looked thoughtful, as though he were considering this. "Maybe I will...sometime."

* * *

A couple of hours later, it was bed time. There wasn't much fuss, as was normal for this particular household, although Oliver wasn't very happy when his mother came in to make sure he'd remembered to check his blood sugar. He wished she wouldn't be so protective.

Eventually, everyone had gotten settled into bed. The house was dark, peaceful, and quiet. But of course, things like this don't last very long with kids around.

In his room, Enrique Giancarlo was having trouble falling asleep. He had no idea why this could be, nor did he care much—all he knew was he couldn't sleep...and that this was very annoying.

The blond kicked his covers off and sighed. He stared up at the ceiling for about a minute, then he rolled out of bed and landed on his hands and knees with a soft thump. He stood up and ran to the door, which he then opened slowly before checking to make sure the hallway was empty.

When he saw that the coast was clear, Enrique bolted to the room next to his and entered without knocking. As quietly as possible, the Italian crossed the room and climbed onto the bed. He crawled across the bed and looked down at the peaceful face of his sleeping best friend with jealousy.

"Oliver!" Enrique spoke his friend's name, being sure that it was loud enough to wake the Frenchman up. "Are you awake?" he asked loudly as he bounced slightly.

"Maybe..." came the very sleepy reply as Oliver rolled over in an attempt to avoid the bothersome blond.

Enrique huffed and stood up. He then began to jump on the bed properly. This continued for several seconds before he dropped down beside his friend once again. "How about now?" he asked, speaking right into Oliver's ear.

"Fine! I'm awake," Oliver said, sounding tired and annoyed at the same time. He sat up and pushed Enrique to the other side of the large bed. "What are you doing in here?"

"I couldn't sleep," the other boy said matter-of-factly as he made himself comfortable on the French boy's bed.

"So? You didn't have to," —Oliver paused here and yawned— "Wake me up."

"I'm sorry Oli...you're the only one I knew wouldn't be mad," Enrique explained. "You're bed's more comfy than mine. I might be able to fall asleep here..."

"No. I am not going to share my bed with you." The green-haired boy said firmly.

"How come?" Enrique wanted to know. He crawled under the blanket and made himself even more comfortable as he snuggled into the bed.

"Last time you hogged the blanket," Oliver informed him. "Just like you're doing now!" He grabbed his comforter and yanked it off of Enrique.

"Hey!" The blond exclaimed, grabbing hold of the blanket as well. Thus began a tug-of-war game over the comforter.

This game somehow ended with both boys on the floor completely tangled up in the blanket. There was no way either of them were going to be able to go back to sleep for a while now.

"Way to go Enri. Now I'm completely awake," Oliver complained as he tried to free himself from the folds of the comforter. "And stuck."

"You could've let go at any time y'know." The Italian managed to get loose in a matter of seconds, so he went over to help his friend find his way out of the tangled mass. After this was accomplished, the two tossed Oliver's blanket onto the bed haphazardly.

"Now what?" Enrique asked, turning expectantly to Oliver.

"How should I know? You're the one that woke me up." The Frenchman's voice had that annoyed tone back when he said this. He obviously wasn't ecstatic about being woken up in the middle of the night.

Enrique chose to ignore this statement. Instead, he got down onto his stomach and crawled under the bed.

"Enrique, what are you doing?" The green-haired boy asked in a voice that suggested he was scared to hear the answer.

"Looking," came the surprisingly simple answer.

"...For what exactly?" Oliver inquired, still dreading the answer as he got on his hands and knees to see what exactly his friend was doing under there. This didn't really work however, because it was very dark under there and he was having trouble locating Enrique.

"I don't know."

"Then why are you under there?"

Enrique popped his head out from under the bed right next to Oliver. "I'm bored."

The Frenchman looked down at the blond. "Again?"

Enrique came out from under the bed completely and sat on his knees whilst pouting. "I can't help it if I get bored easily."

Oliver simply raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"What?" Enrique asked. Then, getting the hint, he said: "I'll think of something to do."

"Good." The smaller of the two climbed back into his bed. "See you in the morning."

"Oli, wait!" The blond jumped up onto the bed as well. "I've got it!"

Oliver sighed. "Alright Enri. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, sitting there on the floor, I realized the reason why I was having trouble sleeping," Enrique began, sitting cross-legged on the bed across from the Frenchman—successfully blocking the younger boy from the pillows. "I'm hungry," Enrique finished triumphantly.

"Then go get something to eat."

"I'm only going if you come with me," the Italian reasoned.

"You aren't going to go back to your own room until you've eaten, are you?"

Enrique shook his head—he knew he'd won.

Oliver sighed again, he knew when he was defeated. "Alright fine."

"Yay!" Enrique jumped off the bed. "We're going on an adventure! For food."

"Calm down Enri. We need to be quiet about it...we don't want to wake anyone up." Oliver cautioned his friend as he headed for the door.

"Don't worry Oli, I'm stealthy."

For some reason, this didn't really reassure Oliver any. Nonetheless, they set off in search of the kitchen.

* * *

It didn't take the boys long to find their way. They remembered passing the kitchen during their explorations earlier in the day.

"Enri just pick something!" Oliver hurried his friend, the kitchen wasn't exactly the warmest room in the house.

"It's not my fault there's so much food in here!" The Italian defended himself as he continued to hunt through the fridge.

'No wonder it's so cold in here...' Oliver thought, 'He's had that fridge open for forever!' Out loud he said: "You can't possibly have this much trouble finding a snack."

"...I like a lot of different foods," Enrique explained.

The Frenchman sighed and allowed himself to sit down on one of the chairs, hugging himself in an attempt to stay warm. "Look somewhere else besides the refrigerator, I'm freezing."

"That's not my fault," Enrique turned to face his friend with his hands on his hips. "Besides, all food is better served cold."

"You're the only person that thinks that in the entire world," Oliver informed his friend—whom he already knew was bizarre.

"Whatever." The blond resumed his rummaging through the fridge.

Oliver simply rolled his eyes and shivered slightly.

Not much time passed before the petite Frenchman heard something. "Enri! Somebody's coming!" he warned his best friend.

He was a little too late, however, because at that moment, Johnny entered the kitchen.

Upon spotting the intruders, Johnny eyed them suspiciously. He hadn't intended on coming down here, originally he'd been wandering the dark hallways of the mansion. That's what he always did when he couldn't sleep. Actually, he _had_ been asleep—but he'd been woken by another nightmare. He figured he hadn't screamed this time, because no one had been in the room when he'd woken up. After his nightmare, he'd found it impossible to get back to sleep. Thus he had begun to wander the house; thinking.

Johnny had been on the first floor when he'd heard someone in the kitchen. Naturally, the Scot had investigated. It had led to the discovery of these two. Oh joy.

"What're you two doing down here?" he asked roughly.

"Enrique woke me up and said he was hungry, so we came down here to the kitchen," Oliver explained to the redhead as he shivered again. His tone suggested he didn't feel like arguing at the moment.

Johnny turned his annoyed plum eyes on the Frenchman. He didn't want to cause trouble with him, because as of right now, he felt sorry for the green-haired boy. This was because of what Robert had told him earlier, but once he got over the whole 'he's constantly sick so I need to feel sorry for him' thing, he wouldn't mind making fun of the younger boy again. So for now, he turned his attention to the blond standing in front of a wide open fridge.

"Shut that you idiot! You're wasting all the electricity," Johnny snapped at Enrique, partly because this was true, and partly because it was now _freezing_ in the large kitchen. How long had that thing been open?

Enrique crossed his arms. "I was only looking for something to eat. You have too much food!"

"Sorry we don't want to starve!" Johnny used some of his soon-to-be legendary sarcasm.

The young Italian frowned at this, then recovered once he'd thought of a comeback. "How much do you eat anyway? There's enough to keep any _normal_ family going for months!"

"I don't really trust your definition of normal," Johnny shot back. He was trying to control his temper—Robert could do it without a problem—but Enrique was really getting on his nerves. This was, perhaps, the precise moment in the history of the Majestics that Johnny realized he hated Enrique more than Oliver.

"You're not normal either," Enrique said. "I'm not hungry anymore," he added, talking more to himself than anyone else.

"Then why don't you shut the door?!" Johnny said in as loud of a voice as he dared—being careful not to wake anyone up.

"Fine!" With that, the Italian kicked the refrigerator door closed rather harshly.

"Don't break it!" Johnny warned the blond in a slightly threatening way.

Enrique glared at the Scot, who gladly glared back twice as hard.

A soft sigh turned the boys' attention back to their other companion in the room. They saw that Oliver had fallen asleep with his head in his arms on top of the table.

"Great," Enrique whispered, taking extra care to be quiet now that he knew his friend had fallen asleep. "Now I'll have to wake him up again."

Johnny snorted. "Way to go."

"This is your fault, too! You distracted me." Enrique accused, pointing at the Scotsman.

"You took too long in the fridge to decide that you really didn't want anything!" Johnny said in as loud a whisper as he could manage.

"Humph!" was the only indignant response Johnny received.

They were silent for a few minutes. Then Johnny broke it with the blunt statement: "I'm going back to bed." The redhead began walking—only to be stopped by his new least favorite person.

"Where do you think you're going?" Enrique asked as he grabbed Johnny's arm—not exactly the smartest move.

The Scot fiercely yanked his arm back. "Back to bed, like I told you!"

"You have to at least help me wake him up," the Italian tried to reason. He really didn't want to be stuck dragging a sleepy Oliver back upstairs by himself.

"No way!" Johnny refused immediately. "You got yourself into this." He made his way to the door and paused once he got there. "Sweet dreams," he added with a smirk before leaving the room.

Enrique crossed his arms and frowned at the spot where Johnny had last stood. The Scot wasn't very helpful. And he was annoying. The blond decided that he didn't like the redhead very much.

The blond turned his attention to his sleeping friend and his expression softened.

Oliver looked really peaceful, and Enrique hated to wake him up. But it had to be done. The kitchen table wasn't a very comfortable place to sleep.

Enrique approached the sleeping boy carefully and shook him gently, so he wouldn't make the green-haired boy fall of the chair. This only worked slightly, so Enrique shook him a little harder. This time, it worked fully.

Oliver awoke with a yawn and a stretch, before rubbing his tired eyes. "Enri, did you find something to eat?" the Frenchman asked in a very tired voice before yawning once again.

Enrique couldn't help but yawn as well—it's contagious you know. "I'm actually not hungry..." the Italian muttered, feeling guilty now that he'd forced his friend to come along.

"Mmm," was all Oliver had to say as he did his best to rub the sleep off of his face. "Typical."

The older boy managed a lopsided smile—he was pretty tired, too. "We should probably go back to bed now."

"Good idea, Enri," Oliver said, the sleepy tone still clinging to his voice as he slid off his chair.

And so the two went back to their bedrooms. Enrique made sure Oliver got in be alright, the French boy had seemed _very_ tired when the blond had woken him up the second time.

So everyone was where they needed to be that night...or at least that's what was thought.

Johnny hadn't gone back to bed. He had gone back to his bedroom to get something before returning to the beloved halls of the mansion that would one day be his.

This time, however, the Scot actually had a destination. Soon enough, he came to the start of a dusty hallway—nobody had been in here for a long time (or so he thought).

Johnny switched on a flashlight, it was a small one he'd brought from his room, and proceeded down the hallway. For some reason, this particular hall seemed darker than all the others—Johnny thought that perhaps this was due to the memories they held. Not that these memories weren't happy—for they were mostly happy memories—but they were just painful and sad to reflect on.

Eventually, the redhead found what he was looking for. It was a very familiar door—and one he knew was locked. He himself was the only one who had a key to this door. He didn't even think his parents knew it was locked.

He made sure no one was coming (although this was very unlikely) before he quietly unlocked the door, opened it, and slipped inside.

He didn't bother turning the light on, his flashlight was enough. And besides, he was only here for one thing and didn't really want to look at anything else in this room

Johnny spotted what he was looking for quickly—he still remembered the layout of this room. He walked the short distance to the picture frame that was sitting on top of a dusty dresser and placed his flashlight next to it so he could pick it up. He examined it carefully and brushed the light layer of dust off of the surface.

The young Scot felt tears come to his eyes and he bit his lip as he attempted to blink them away. He was looking at a picture of him and Tyler...they had been very close—especially considering how young they both were.

He hadn't seen this picture since Tyler had died...what had made him want to look at it now had actually been Oliver and Enrique. Although Johnny wasn't fond of either of them, they were best friends—and they probably would be for a long time. If you had asked Johnny then, he would have lied about it, but quite truthfully the Scotsman was jealous of those two.

On a whim, he turned the frame over and opened the back, extracting the picture. He placed the frame back where he'd gotten it and picked up his flashlight. Johnny still continued to stare at the photo, despite the tears it seemed determined to put in his eyes. After a while he sat down on the floor. He was thinking.

He'd only ever had a really good friend once, and that had been Tyler. The redhead had completely trusted Tyler and had been able to tell him anything...even at his young age.

Johnny wasn't sure he would ever be able to find another friend like that, and he didn't think it was fair that he had to have his best friend taken away. Why not Enrique or Oliver? Then again, he didn't really want to wish his life on anyone else.

Every psychiatrist had asked him why he didn't want to talk, and why he didn't trust them. The poor boy didn't know how to answer that question—and it got harder every time. It seemed like the adults wanted him to relive the event over and over again. He never felt comfortable talking to them, so they would leave and abandon him. Tyler never would have done that...he hadn't abandoned Johnny by choice. Come to think of it, Robert had been the only one that hadn't abandoned him in the end. The German had been here so long that he'd gotten to see Johnny at his worst, but this still didn't seem to bother the young nobleman.

Actually, Johnny liked having Robert around...he was almost like a friend. He was very easy to talk to because he was a good listener, and he didn't interrupt with more questions like the adults tended to do.

But Johnny also knew Robert couldn't stay here forever, and he wouldn't always be there when Johnny needed him. Not to mention that Robert lived in _Germany_, which would make it harder for them to visit each other.

'I guess that's why most people make more than one friend,' the Scot thought. It was too bad Johnny wasn't exactly good at making friends—he didn't even consider Robert a friend yet. So once again, the redhead got to thinking about _why_ he couldn't make friends, which he knew was all his own fault.

He was rude, quick to anger, and slow to trust. He tended to ward people off more than draw them in. Johnny just didn't have a very magnetic personality—and no one would probably ever be willing to try and get past that again. He had a feeling Robert would be the last person who _really_ got to know him.

With a sigh, Johnny got back to his feet and left the room with his flashlight and the photograph in hand. He made sure to close and lock the door carefully behind him.

He didn't understand his conflicting emotions—wanting friends but at the same time not wanting anybody to get too close. But if Johnny thought it was bad now, it would get worse when he became a teenager and hormones were thrown into the mix.

* * *

The Scot managed to sneak quietly back to his room, making as little noise as possible.

But 'as little noise as possible' was all it took to wake up Robert. He was—if you remember—a very light sleeper, which was both a gift and a curse.

The German knew it was Johnny he'd heard—no one else's room was close enough and besides, he had heard Johnny up many nights before.

The question always was whether or not he should get out of bed and check on the Scot. Johnny didn't seem to like it much when he was checked on, yet sometimes Robert (or even Johnny's parents) thought it needed to be done.

The German's thoughts quickly turned from Johnny to himself, and he found he was contemplating why he was here in this house.

Johnny's parents had called his own one day, and he hadn't really understood why. Robert didn't think he could possibly do more than the adults had done.

Nonetheless, he was sent to Scotland on his own to stay with the McGregors for an indefinite amount of time. It would depend on if he could help Johnny and how long that would take.

When he'd met Johnny, the redhead had obviously not been impressed. Mr. and Mrs. McGregor had been, as had Mrs. Boulanger just recently—all grown ups usually were. Robert was mature and polite for his age, due to a rather serious upbringing. It was quite a contrast to Johnny's rebellious ways, and he could tell the McGregors were happy to have him—all of them.

The German did miss his own parents, but he called them often. And he had to admit that there was much more fun to be had here than back home, it was more interesting at least. Nothing ever really happened at Robert's house, but here—especially now that Oliver and Enrique had arrived—every day was different, even though the other three seemed to insist upon constant bickering.

They were all so very different (himself included), but he found it very refreshing.

As far as what he's accomplished with Johnny, the Jurgen heir had to admit he was proud—he'd gotten farther and lasted longer than any of the psychiatrists. Although he didn't really think he'd done all that much, he only did what was obviously the right thing to do...well it was obvious to him anyway. All he'd really had to do was listen and allow the Scotsman to trust him in his own time.

Whatever it was he'd done, it had obviously been the right thing. Johnny would sooner do what Robert told him than listen to his own parents!

He glanced over at the glowing clock beside his bed. It was too late to go and see if Johnny was alright now—the German had spent too much time thinking! The redhead would be asleep by now.

Robert closed his eyes and settled down to do the same. A final thought crossed his mind just as he was beginning to drift off to sleep.

Johnny's relations with others weren't that great yet, and the Scot was going to have to learn to let down his guard and let people get to know him sometime. After all, Robert wasn't without flaws, and Johnny was going to need more people than just Robert to help him through life.

In the bedroom next door, a younger boy was thinking the same thing with a sinking feeling as he looked at an old photograph, tears falling occasionally.

* * *

Oh...I just made myself feel bad with that last paragraph. Poor Johnny...

Sorry if some stuff didn't make sense or if there were any horrid errors, this was written late and is most definitely not my best work. At least it had more meaning than the last chapter...even if some of the stuff was being repeated from earlier in the story.

Also, I decided to put the French in italics and underline it, just to have something to distinguish it from the regular words in italics.

I also apologize for how late this was...I really need to speed things up a tad.

Please please _please_ review! It would mean the world to me!!


	11. Chapter 11

Here it is! The final chapter of History! I'm actually glad to be done with it. I hope the sequel will come easier for me.

But I may not be able to update for a while—our French exchange student is coming back, and we have a lot of stuff planned. So I'm sorry about that, and I'll try my best to have the first chapter of the sequel up before too long!

Thanks to everyone who favorited, subscribed, or reviewed to this story!!! Also thanks to those who are just reading it! I hope you've all enjoyed it this far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

The next day was an unusually cheery one in Scotland weather-wise—especially considering the fact that it had rained all day yesterday.

The sun had decided to come out today, although there were still a few clouds in the sky.

Don McGregor had gone off to work a while ago, but Kristen had taken the day off to stay home with Antoinette and they boys.

"I'm bored!" (Guess who?)

"Not again..." Oliver mumbled, trying to concentrate on his drawing despite his whining friend.

The two had had plans to do more exploring today, but they'd quickly finished with that. They were, after all, experienced explorers after yesterday.

"Watcha drawin' Olive?" the boredom-prone Italian said as he leaned over the Frenchman's shoulder in an attempt to see what the boy was drawing.

"A picture," came the vague answer. "And don't call me Olive!"

The two boys were in Oliver's room. Oliver was lying on his bed with a sketchpad, drawing whatever he happened to see out the window. Enrique had wandered in from his own room earlier and joined the younger boy on the bed. Inevitably, the blond had gotten bored.

There were several moments of silence before Enrique sighed dramatically.

Oliver glanced at him. The Italian was sprawled on his back—taking up half of the bed. He was staring up at the ceiling and looking pathetically bored. The blond had become a master at that look over his many years of being bored.

Just as Oliver was getting back to work, he heard his friend sigh again. The green-haired boy rolled his eyes and continued with his drawing. Then Enrique sighed louder—it was obvious he was trying to get Oliver's attention. The French boy had no intention of giving the other boy his attention, but then Enrique sighed even louder and he knew that the sighing wasn't going to stop unless he spoke to the Italian.

"What are you sighing for Enri?"

"I'm bored," came the usual response.

"Obviously..."

"Can't we do something fun Olive?" Enrique whined, once again using Oliver's hated nickname.

"This is fun," Oliver informed his friend. "And I thought I told you to stop calling me Olive!"

"But this isn't fun for me!" the blond protested. "All I get to do is sit here and watch you draw!" He had chosen to ignore the 'Olive' part, he would never stop using it anyway. He thought it suited his best friend very well.

"It's fun for me though," the Frenchman said in a slightly snobby way as he kept drawing.

"Because you're the one drawing!" Enrique exclaimed as he sat up—only to flop back down on his side so he was facing the other boy. He was glaring at Oliver. The younger boy was no help when it came to curing Enrique's boredom.

"You could be drawing too you know," The green-haired child informed his friend.

Then again, maybe he was kind of good at curing boredom.

"Good idea Oli!" Enrique thanked the younger boy.

Oliver simply nodded and continued to draw his picture. He was enjoying the silence.

"Oliver?"

The silence hadn't lasted long.

"What is it now?" Oliver asked, irritated at being distracted yet again.

"...I don't have any paper," the blond said. "Or a pencil."

The Frenchman sighed. "Here you go," he said, tearing out a piece of paper from his sketchbook for the older boy before finding an extra pencil that the Italian could use. He immediately handed these things over, wanting to get back to his drawing as soon as possible.

"Thank you!"

Once more, there was peace and quiet. But of course, this couldn't last long.

After a while of peaceful drawing, Oliver heard the sound of a pencil poking holes in paper. He looked over to find that that was exactly what his best friend was doing.

"Enrique, what are you doing?"

"Drawin'," Enrique said as though the answer was obvious. The Italian's paper was covered in mindless and shapeless scribbles and was sprouting holes by the second.

"No you're not. You're scribbling and poking holes in the paper! That's not drawing," Oliver informed the blond.

"Well I'm sorry we can't all be great artists like you!" Enrique said as he continued with his own form of drawing. "Besides, when you did this, you said it was abstract art."

"That's because mine had at least _some_ thought behind it. Yours is just pointless," Oliver told him.

"How can you put thought behind scribbles and holes?" Enrique wanted to know.

"Not how you're doing it." the Frenchman said as he went back to his non-abstract drawing.

"Whatever," Enrique said cheerily, "This is fun." Then he said: "I need a new piece of paper Oli."

"In a minute..." Oliver muttered, finishing a detail before tearing out another empty page for his friend.

"Yay!" Enrique exclaimed excitedly as he attacked this paper in the same way as the one before. Although this one had more swirls.

Oliver winced as the Italian began poking holes in the paper once again. "Is that necessary? You're gonna ruin the paper if you put too many holes in it."

"Yes it's necessary," Enrique informed his green-haired friend. "It's my signature style."

Eventually, the blond used up all the space on this piece of paper as well and was about to ask for another when he spotted Oliver's drawing. It was of the window and everything beyond it—the tees, hills, and animals. At the moment, the young artist was working on a bird that had perched on the window sill. It was a surprisingly good picture.

"That's a very good drawing Olive!" Enrique said, the nickname slipping out.

"Don't call me that!"

"Sorry Oliv—Oli," the Italian said, correcting himself. "That is a very nice picture though."

"Thank you," Oliver said, continuing his work.

This new artwork made Enrique curious. "What else do you have in that book?" he asked, once again leaning over Oliver's shoulder.

"More pictures," the Frenchman answered bluntly.

"Can I look at them?"

"Not right now."

"Why not?" Enrique asked, pouting slightly.

"Because I'm working," Oliver answered, refusing to look at his pouting friend.

"Please?"

"No."

"Pleeeeeaaaaaase?"

"I said later Enri!"

"But I want to look now!" The Italian protested as he sat down with his arms and legs crossed. "You're no fun." Then an idea sprang into his mind. He reached over and snatched Oliver's sketchbook and began to leaf through it.

"Enri!" the Frenchman exclaimed, trying to grab it back. All of his attempts were foiled however. "Give it back!"

"But these are very good Oli! I just want to look at them, then I'll give it back." The blond assured his friend.

"Fine." Oliver said, crossing his arms. "Just hurry up."

A couple of minutes later, Enrique came upon some empty pages. "Can I draw something in here?"

"As long as you don't take forever..." Oliver said impatiently. "Or poke holes in it," he added, remembering the blond's 'signature style'.

Enrique didn't actually take long, but that was because he had only been using his usual scribbling technique. When he finished, the Italian took that liberty of tearing out several more blank pages for himself. He then gave the sketchpad back to its original owner and settled down to do more drawing.

Oliver was shocked at the amount of paper the blond had taken. "Do you really need that much?" he asked, flipping through the pages to find the one that his friend had drawn on.

"Yep," Enrique answered while he scribbled on a fresh sheet of paper, "I work fast."

The Frenchman glanced at Enrique as he located the blond's drawing. "This is definitely not abstract Enri," Oliver informed the older boy. "It's just scribbles!"

"It is to abstract!" Enrique said, standing up for himself. "You just can't see it."

"Whatever you say..." the green-haired boy muttered, "You're the artist." Oliver then turned to where he'd started his own drawing so he could finish it.

Not much time passed, however, before a certain 'abstract artist' used up the entire stack of paper that he'd taken from Oliver's sketchpad.

"Oli, can I have more paper?"

The green-haired boy thought nothing of it, and continued to hand his friend paper whenever he asked. If it kept the Italian from getting bored, he figured he could spare a few pieces.

But Oliver's sketchbook didn't have a never-ending supply of paper, and when Enrique asked for what must have been the fifteenth time if he could have another piece of paper, the Frenchman was unable to find any.

"Enrique!" he exclaimed upon realizing what had happened. "You used up all the paper!"

"So?" Enrique wasn't overly concerned.

"That's the only sketchbook I brought! I was hoping to draw more than one picture," Oliver explained, a cross between a glare and a pout on his face.

"Sorry Oli," the Italian apologized. "I was bored."

"Then you should find other ways to entertain yourself, instead of bothering me. Nothing good ever happens when you're bored...well, most of the time nothing good happens..." Oliver climbed off of his bed and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Enrique asked as he followed his friend. He was curious and a little worried—he didn't want to get in trouble. Come to think of it, he got in trouble a lot when he got bored.

"I'm going to tell _Maman _what you did so she can take me to buy a new sketchbook!" the Frenchman informed the blond as they entered the hall and walked towards the stairs.

"But she might get mad at me!" Enrique was nervous. Whenever Oliver began a sentence with 'I'm going to tell _Maman_' it usually never ended good for the Italian.

"I don't care."

Before Enrique could protest, Oliver spotted his mother and ran down the last few stairs. "_Maman_!" he called, bolting into the living room as fast as he could manage. Enrique wasn't far behind him.

"_Maman_, Enrique used up all the paper in my sketchbook and it's the only one I brought!" Oliver tattled, putting on his best sad with a touch of angry face.

"It's not my fault!" Enrique said immediately.

Antoinette looked down at that two boys. They had managed to stop her before she could sit down and get relaxed with her tea. She glanced at Kristen (who was already settled on the couch) just long enough to shake her head before kneeling down to the boys' height and placing her tea cup on the coffee table.

Kristen smiled. These two certainly were a handful. They were as bad as Johnny—it was a good thing Robert wasn't like that. Then they might not be able to handle it!

"Must you two always get into trouble? Why can't you ever play together quietly?" The Frenchwoman asked. These two were always up to something it seemed.

"Enrique gets bored too easily," Oliver explained, "And he used up all my paper! I don't have any more." He continued with his pouting.

"Did he say he was sorry?" Antoinette inquired.

"No," Oliver answered quickly.

"Yes I did!" Enrique exclaimed indignantly. He was sure he had apologized already.

Antoinette sighed. "Why don't you apologize again Enrique? I'm sure it'll make Oliver feel better."

"But I already did!"

"No, you didn't."

"Did to! I would know if I apologized!"

"I don't remember it!"

"Boys!" Mrs. Boulanger cut in. "Just say you're sorry Enrique...it doesn't matter if you already said it."

"Fine," the Italian agreed reluctantly. I'm sorry Oli."

Oliver sniffled. "I forgive you. I just wish I had more paper so I could draw...."

Catching the hint, Antoinette sighed once more. "How about I take you to get another one?"

The Frenchman's face brightened. "Thank you _Maman_!" he exclaimed as he hugged her.

"You're welcome," the woman said, hugging her son back. "You're coming too Enrique, I don't really trust you here alone."

"Okay!" the blue-eyed boy said. Maybe she'd buy him his own sketchbook!

Turning back to her friend, Antoinette asked, "Kristen, do you know where I could buy Oliver a new sketchpad?"

"Not off the top of my head," the Scotswoman confessed. "But if you ask the driver he should know."

"Alright. I guess we'll have time to talk when I get back," the Frenchwoman said as she stood up. "Come on boys, get your shoes and we'll get going."

"Okay!" the two said in unison as they ran off to do as they were told...for once.

* * *

Johnny McGregor was once again sitting in his favorite window seat, which had a very interesting view. The window was on the front of the house, and you could see for miles (the house was in a pretty secluded area and the nearest neighbors were far off). But what Johnny was focusing on at the moment was the driveway. He watched as Antoinette and the two boys piled into their awaiting car and drove off.

"Where are they going?" he asked he German who was standing next to him. He had been looking out the window as well.

"I don't know...my guess would be that they're just running a few errands. They'll be back soon enough," Robert answered. "But until then they're out of your hair," he added, noticing how Johnny didn't seem to appreciate the fact that the unwanted guests were coming back.

* * *

About an hour later, the three 'unwanted guests' returned—with a surprising amount of noise. The noise was being made by Oliver and Enrique. The two seemed to be begging for something, and they were both trying to be heard over the other.

Hearing the commotion, Kristen went to see what was going on. What she saw was Antoinette looking very relieved to see her. Oliver was clutching a brand new sketchbook to his chest. Enrique had one too, his was in a shopping bag that he was carrying. Both boys were pestering the Frenchwoman.

"What's going on here?" the Scotswoman asked, crossing her arms.

The two boys both stopped speaking and Oliver looked at his mother expectantly.

Antoinette sighed before explaining. "On our way home, we passed a playground, and since it's a nice day, the boys really wanted to go. I told them we better come back and ask you first. Just in case anyone here wanted to go. They haven't stopped pestering me since!"

"Hang on," the other woman said, "Was the playground part of a park? With a fountain and bey-dishes? Across the street from a big yellow house?" (A/N: Fun fact! I changed the color of that house three times...first it was blue, then green. I finally decided it should be yellow.)

"Yes, that's the one..." Antoinette answered, a little confused by her friend's questions.

"That one's a lot of fun! They boys should love it there," Kristen said, ignoring the other woman's confusion for now. She smiled at the two boys. "Why don't you two go upstairs and put your sketchbooks away? I need to talk to Antoinette for a bit. We'll leave when you're ready."

"Okay! C'mon Oli!" Enrique said cheerfully as he grabbed the Frenchman's arm and dragged him up the stairs. He was obviously excited to get going.

When the children were out of sight, Kristen turned to her long-time friend. "An, I think the park is a great idea. It'll give the boys a chance to get to know each other better—their past interactions haven't been too friendly. But there's a problem...."

"What's that?" the other woman asked, a little concerned.

"Well, the playground you described is in the same park where Johnny and Tyler were bit by that snake," Mrs. McGregor explained. She had spoken quietly, for fear of eavesdropping children.

"Oh, we don't have to go there. We could always find another one...and Johnny doesn't have to go if he doesn't want to."

Kristen smiled slightly, reassuring her friend. "It's alright. Don and I have been trying to convince Johnny to go back there ever since Tyler died. He always refuses, although I really can't blame him. There can't be many happy memories there. But still, we both think he should go back there...I see it as a way for him to move on. Today would be as good a time as any. I'll have to talk to him..." she paused for a second. "It'll probably take some time to convince him—do you mind?"

"Since you think going to this park will help Johnny, the boys and I don't mind waiting," Antoinette answered. "As long as it doesn't take _too_ long," she added in a lighter, joking tone.

The Scotswoman smiled gratefully. "Thank you. Johnny's not easy to convince though...but I'm almost positive he'll come—even if he refuses when I ask him. Robert should be able to get him to go." She moved towards the stairs, only to come back and say in a quieter voice, "If I'm not down in a reasonable amount of time, feel free to leave without me."

* * *

Reaching the third floor, Kristen McGregor made her way to her son's room. She knocked on the door and received no answer, so she figured both boys were in Robert's room. When she knocked on the German's door, she heard a polite "Yes?" and entered.

Both of the boys were sitting on Robert's bed. The had been playing chess, but now the game was in it's box between them. The woman guessed that the two had simply been talking before she'd come in—although about what she had no clue.

Kristen closed the door behind her and crossed the room to the bed, sitting down on the edge, closer to Johnny. "Johnny," she began, being careful of her words and tone, "I need to talk to you."

The redhead glanced at Robert before he turned so he was sitting facing his mother. "Yeah?"

"Antoinette took Oliver and Enrique out to buy new sketchbooks today, and on their way home they passed a playground that they wanted to go to," she stopped, studying her son's face. He was looking at her suspiciously—like he knew what she was going to say and didn't want her to say it. She continued nonetheless. "They came back here, and An asked if either of you wanted to go too. The only thing is, Johnny, that the playground they want to go to is in the park that you'll refuse to visit."

Johnny waited for it—he knew what was coming. His parents were always suggesting it, they always brought it up.

"And I want you to go," the Scotswoman finished, looking at her son with a stern eye. She was adamant about her decision, she hoped that he could see that.

"_No_," Johnny refused firmly. "I'm not going back there!"

"You don't have much of a choice Johnathon," she told him, using his full name for added effect.

"I'm not going! I don't want to go back..." Johnny protested further. He turned around and slid off the bed to sit on the floor stubbornly, trying to get out of his mother's sight.

Kristen was beginning to get really frustrated with the boy—this wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation and it was getting pretty old.

She stood and made her way around the bed, stopping when she saw her son and staring down at him until he looked up at her. "You're going to that park today Johnny—I'm sick of this! You don't want to go and you won't give me a reason. I know the memories must be hard for you, but you're going to have to get past that."

Johnny blinked up at her, then his face hardened. "I'm not going," he said stubbornly.

"Why?" she asked him, knowing full well that he wouldn't answer her—he never did.

Sure enough, the Scotsman remained silent and looked away from his mother.

The woman made a noise of frustration and turned to Robert. The German was still on his bed and had watched the whole thing in silence. "Robert, can you please talk to him?"

The young nobleman nodded. "Yes Mrs. McGregor."

"Thank you," she said, sounding only slightly relieved. She then left the room and the two boys were alone once again.

Once she was gone, Robert slid himself off the bed and sat on the floor next to Johnny.

"I don't want to go!" the redhead exclaimed.

"Why not?" Robert asked, his tome wasn't as angry as Kristen's had been, which made a big difference.

"Because it..." Johnny hesitated and stared down at the floor. "It makes me remember when I think about the park. If I went there, it would be worse."

"How do you know?" the German asked, even though Johnny's reason kind of made sense. Mrs. McGregor wanted him to convince Johnny to go, and he thought it was a good idea as well, so he decided to try his best to get the Scot to go.

Johnny shrugged pathetically and continued to stare at the ground. "It just seems like it would..." he said quietly. He really hoped they wouldn't make him go.

"You won't know until you go. But if you don't have fun this time, I promise you don't have to go back," Robert told the redhead, as a way of trying to reassure him.

"I'm not going." Johnny reminded the older boy firmly through clenched teeth.

Robert sighed. How could he convince Johnny it would be alright? Would it even be alright? Maybe Johnny was right, and it would only make his bad memories worse. It didn't really matter—the German still thought it was a good idea for Johnny to go. He agreed that the Scotsman had to get past this before he could really move on. "Johnny—"

"I'm not going! I told you—I don't want to go back." Johnny said angrily, not giving Robert a chance to speak. He looked at the other boy with his plum eyes full of anger and tears. "I'm not going back."

"Well I won't make you," Robert told him, "But your mother might..." The German stood and walked past the Scotsman towards the door.

Johnny twisted around and got up on his knees to see where the older boy was going. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to talk to your mother," the German explained without turning around. "Don't worry," he added. He then exited the room and Johnny sat back down. He almost wanted to follow Robert, but he decided to just wait here until the other boy came back.

* * *

Robert found Mrs. McGregor quickly, she hadn't gone far. He explained what Johnny had told him and some of his own thoughts. When he finished, there was a strange mix of frustration and astonishment on the woman's face.

"Honestly Robert, why does he tell these things to you and not us?" Kristen asked, expecting no answer and receiving none. "I just don't know what to do with him sometimes," she said as she shook her head. "Should I make him go or let him stay? I don't want to force him to go to the park if he's not ready...but He _is_ going to have to go sometime. I figured he might make less of a fuss if Oliver and Enrique were around." The woman sighed. "That boy can give me a headache..."

"I think he should go—he isn't completely ready, but he probably never will be. He's just being stubborn because he doesn't know how it'll turn out. Still, I think it's safe to take him...but he should also go on his own free will. I guess I should talk to him some more and try to convince him." When Robert was done talking, he turned around and went back into his room.

Kristen watched him go, once again stunned at how much he knew about her son. Wasn't she supposed to be the psychiatrist here? And yet she couldn't understand her own son most of the time...it made her jealous, but she was happy that Robert could be here for Johnny.

* * *

"Johnny doesn't want to go?" Oliver asked, making sure he'd hear right. Johnny hadn't been very nice to the Frenchman, but he still found it hard to believe that the redhead didn't want to have fun.

"I said he_ might_ not go Oliver. That doesn't necessarily mean that he's definitely not going," Antoinette corrected her son. She had gone up to join the boys in Oliver's room after Kristen had gone upstairs. Actually, she'd only been looking for Oliver but had found both boys in his room, talking about how much fun the playground would be.

"But why not?" Oliver wondered. He knew his mother wouldn't answer him—she was always worried about him and probably didn't want to scare him. He was lucky to even know that Johnny used to have a friend that died—and he'd learned that by eavesdropping with Enrique one day. Maybe Johnny was still sad about that...maybe that's why he was so mean.

"I don't know Oliver."

The petite Frenchman knew that she probably actually did.

"He's probably scared," Enrique decided. He liked the idea of the seemingly tough Scot being scared to go to a park.

"What could he be scared of in a playground?" Oliver wanted to know.

"There's tons of stuff," the Italian informed his friend. "Bugs, falling off the top level and cracking your head, accidentally going down the slide backwards, getting stuck on the monkey bars," he rattled off a few examples.

Antoinette was glad when he stopped. She didn't want Oliver to worry about those things happening—she herself had already begun to worry about it.

The green-haired boy shuddered. "Don't scare me Enri!"

"Sorry Olive," Enrique apologized with his charming smile.

"Don't call me Olive!" Oliver reminded his friend for what was literally the thousandth time.

"Come on you two, let's go wait downstairs," the Frenchwoman said, effectively stopping the argument before it could really start.

On their way down the hall towards the stairs, they came near Johnny's room (which was next to Robert's where the German was still trying to convince the redhead to come to the park).

Enrique chose this moment to bring up his theory once again. "I'm almost positive that Johnny's too scared to go to the playground! Oh well, I guess we'll have fun anyway."

"Shh! Enri, that's his room, he'll hear you!" Oliver warned his friend.

"I know," Enrique informed his friend as he grabbed the other boy's arm, stopping them as close to Johnny's room as they were getting. Then he spoke louder, "Too bad Johnny's scared to come with us, isn't it Oli?"

"Don't drag me into this!" Oliver whispered. Then, remembering how rude Johnny had been, he changed his mind. "Yes it is! Maybe if he wasn't so scared, he could have fun!"

"Enrique, Oliver, that's enough," Antoinette said as she continued walking without glancing back. The boys followed, Enrique a little reluctantly. He'd hoped Johnny would get angry and come storming out of his room—he found that he got satisfaction out of annoying the Scotsman. That, and he also kind of wanted Johnny to come to the playground...then he could really get on his nerves!

Little did the two troublemakers know it, but they'd actually done something good by trying to annoy Johnny.

* * *

"Johnny! Don't! You don't want to get in trouble!" Robert said as he grabbed the redhead's arm to stop him from bursting out of the room.

Their conversation had stopped abruptly when they'd heard Enrique's voice in the hall. The two were in Robert's room, which was right beside Johnny's, so they'd heard everything Enrique had said. The Italian's words had of course offended Johnny, and Robert was trying to get the younger boy to calm down some. The Scot wasn't exactly cooperating.

"He's going to get it now! I am not scared—he has no idea!" Johnny growled, trying to pull his arm out of the German's grasp. He didn't manage this, however, and Robert was able to drag him back behind the bed where they had been sitting.

"Relax," Robert said, releasing the Scot's arm.

Johnny crossed his arms. "I'm not scared," he grumbled. Then he stood up and headed for the door.

"Johnny..." Robert said as he followed the other boy, thinking he might be about to attack Enrique.

"I'm going to the park," Johnny said quietly yet stubbornly.

The German stopped in his tracks. That was surprising. He wandered if the Italian had done that on purpose....

"You coming?"

Robert blinked a few times to pull himself away from his thoughts and saw Johnny waiting for him in the hall. He nodded in response and followed Johnny into the hallway, closing his bedroom door behind him.

* * *

The ride to the playground was an interesting one, for lack of a better word.

Kristen had decided to drive her own car, not wanting to attract too much attention. Antoinette was in the passenger seat, and the boys were all in the back—which was a little uncomfortable, seeing as the seat was only built for three people. It was a good thing the boys were still young—if they'd been any older, then they wouldn't have fit.

The whole ride had consisted of Enrique whispering to Oliver (about a certain redhead). The Frenchman would giggle occasionally, but he always felt a little bad when he did. Johnny was glaring at them as though he knew that he was their topic of conversation. Well, Enrique's anyway—Oliver wasn't participating as much.

Robert saw the look on Johnny's face and was thankful that when they had gotten into the car, they'd kept the redhead and the blond separated.

When they finally reached the park, the women made sure the boys all climbed out of the same side of the car (the passenger side) so none of them got out onto the road.

As soon as Oliver and Enrique were out of the car they ran to go play. Robert followed them out of the car, but turned around to face the Scotsman. Johnny hadn't moved when the car had stopped, and eh was still sitting in his seat. Although he had leaned towards the open door to try and get a better view of the park.

"You coming?" Robert asked.

"Yeah," Johnny answered, sliding out of the car.

Robert closed the door and the two of them made their way over to the playground—but at a much slower pace than Oliver and Enrique.

The German made his way over to the swings, deciding to sit and watch the other three.

It took a lot of courage for Johnny not to follow the older boy. Instead, he stayed rooted to the spot. Right on the outside of the playground where the grass met the mulch. He let his eyes wander over the familiar setting and they eventually settled on the far side of the park. Right over there, behind some of the trees, in a secluded part of the park was where it had happened.

In his pocket, Johnny clutched Salamulyon tightly. He hadn't been here in a long time, and he'd never intended to come back. The only reason he was even here now was Enrique. He wanted to be angry, but for some reason he wasn't. This wasn't what he'd expected. Instead of remembering the accident and feeling sad, he actually felt better—like he had defeated something. It didn't make sense, but he didn't really care at the moment.

Johnny was pulled out of his thoughts by a shout from none other than the blond Italian. Apparently, Enrique had found an 'awesome rock' as he described it. The Scotsman smirked.

Without warning, the redhead darted towards the blond and snatched the rock out of his hand.

"Hey!" Enrique exclaimed, trying to get his rock back. Johnny was currently holding it out of the Italian's reach (even though they were around the same height, this was still possible). "Give it back Johnny!"

The older boy was still smirking as he ran for the actual playground. "No! You'll have to come and get it back yourself if you want it blondie."

Oliver slid down the slide. He'd watched Johnny take the rock from the top, and had decided to flee from the area where the Scot currently was, so he could stay away from the fight. He didn't really want to get in the way...especially since Johnny was carrying a rock. He saw Enrique take off after the redhead. The Frenchman backed away from the slide to get a better view of the chase.

Robert sighed. He was glad Johnny seemed to have gotten over his fear and appeared to be having a good time—he just wished that the Scotsman's idea of a good time didn't involve terrorizing Enrique or Oliver. The German got off of his swing and walked over to where Oliver was standing to monitor the situation.

"Johnny! Just give it back to him!" The Frenchman called.

"Stay out of this girly!" Johnny shouted back, causing the green-haired boy to huff and cross his arms.

"Boys!" Antoinette and Kristen said as one from their spot on a nearby bench. Enrique and Johnny both froze—the latter still smirking.

"Come here both of you." Kristen demanded.

The blond slowly made his way off of the playground and over to the two women. The Scotsman, however, had no intention of being yelled at just yet. Instead, he made his way to the slide that Oliver had just gone down and slid down it himself, still holding Enrique's precious rock.

When he got to the bottom, Robert was waiting for him. The older boy was holding his hand out for the rock. Rolling his eyes, Johnny handed it over before he caught the look in Robert's eyes and headed over to the bench to allow his mother to talk to him about his behavior.

The redhead was halfway there when he saw the angry look that Enrique was giving him. He stopped and smirked slightly, then he turned around and ran back to where Robert was standing with the 'awesome rock'.

"Johnny!" Mrs. McGregor called after her son, assuming he was trying to escape getting in trouble. He ignored her.

"Can I have that rock?" Johnny asked once he reached the German.

Deciding to trust the Scot, Robert handed it over.

Johnny then ran over to the bench and handed the rock back to Enrique—the blond looked surprised to get it back, especially from Johnny himself.

Maybe Johnny could be nice sometimes...it was very strange to think about.

Kristen was also surprised by her son's action. Maybe there was hope for Johnny—maybe he'd be able to make friends with these boys after all.

Back with Oliver and Robert, the German sighed. "Johnny can give you a headache most of the time, but there are times when he can surprise you."

"That's funny," Oliver said, "_Maman_ says the same thing about Enrique."

"The whole headache and surprise thing?" Robert asked, turning his head to look at the younger boy.

"No, just the headache part," the Frenchman answered, earning a rare smile from Robert.

'Well,' the German thought, 'At least I won't ever have to deal with the both of them at once again, after this week is over.' Although, Oliver seemed to have at least some sense...actually, maybe he wouldn't mind seeing Oliver and Enrique again some time. They'd been entertaining and had, in their own way, helped Johnny.

But Robert also knew that the Scotsman had a long way to go. Hopefully, in the future, he would have more than just Robert to help him.

* * *

Well, there you have it. It's over! I can finally concentrate on writing the sequel—no more little kids! They are not easy to write.

Speaking of the sequel, I cannot seem to think of a title, and any suggestions you have would be welcome!!

I thank you if you've managed to read this story all the way to the end and have put up with my pathetic excuse for writing! I also apologize for any errors in spelling or grammar!

A little footnote thing: The name Antoinette is a very old French name—what I mean by that is that it's a grandmother's name. XD I still thought it fit her very well, her family probably would've picked an old-fashioned name anyway.

Also, I'm sorry if the ending is lame or crappy, or if it just doesn't fit. I also apologize if the story has been a bit bipolar—happy mood one second, depressed mood the next. I hope you enjoyed it all the same, and I hope you'll stick around for the sequel!!

Review?


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